


Playful Nights

by Flailingkittylover



Series: Aruani Happy Ending Imagination Land [2]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Armin and Annie are awkward dorks, Armin gets pegged, Canon Divergent, Cunnilingus, Emotional Sex, F/M, Fingering, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Grinding, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Intimacy Exploration, Mentions from Ch. 94 and Lost Girls, Might range from T events to M, Mix of Experienced/Inexperienced, Office Sex, Oral Sex, Orgasm Denial, Pegging, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Rumbling (Shingeki no Kyojin), Post-Time Skip, Self-Worth Issues, Sexual Content, Smut, after final battle, blowjob, might expand on this later...
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:14:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26608834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flailingkittylover/pseuds/Flailingkittylover
Summary: During the day it's relaxing, peaceful. At night and behind closed doors, they're at peace too...but only after they're done with each other.Ch.7: Armin's come to the decision that Annie's pushy attitude needs some tamingNon-linear stories of Experienced/Inexperienced intimacy
Relationships: Armin Arlert/Annie Leonhart
Series: Aruani Happy Ending Imagination Land [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1935688
Comments: 58
Kudos: 387





	1. Tomorrow (Experienced)

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I liked the setting constructed from my other fic “Peaceful Days” so I imagined it while making this. But I try to leave it up to your interpretation. The one constant here is that this is fairytale canon where they both survive in the end.
> 
> Though if you imagined this in the cottage from Peaceful Days, the question of “Where are Gabi and Falco?” has the answer “Uh, Aunt Mikasa took them away for a while. She has ponies.” 
> 
> Chapter Summary: Armin knew there was more to Annie than what meets the eye…but Armin never knew just how much horror she endured.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Armin knew there was more to Annie than what meets the eye…but Armin never knew just how much horror she endured.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ch.1: Sex (Experienced)
> 
> If you are reading this fic on any outlet other than AO3 website; please note that it is there without my permission. This is tantamount to theft.  
> I wrote this for free.

It began with debilitating nervousness, aimlessly mapping where she or he would find a spot they’d get the best response. Nerves shook both of their hands and awkward kisses and questions consumed their first few tries. To this day, Armin is embarrassed with how clumsily his inexperienced-self performed; Annie blushes so red when he brings it up too, she made him promise to not speak of how awkward _she_ was, let alone himself. 

With time, a fearful, heavy gut dissolves into nerve-shuddering static; the couple now knows how to treat each other: how to care for the other on a long-lasting night or fight so carnivorously hard, the two of them pass out for hours afterward. Everyday Armin wants her and Annie is as insistent as him—he’s got enough tears in his shirts to prove so. But tonight, he’s not in the mood to throw her legs over his shoulders and drill her into the bed—maybe tomorrow night if Annie doesn’t pin him down by his shoulders and straddle him first, again. 

Moonlight consumes the room’s floor boards as the heat of the room rises from slow roast to broiling. Annie’s arms fly up when Armin pulls her oversized shirt up and over her head—she never wears anything underneath but considering this shirt is Annie’s version of nightie, that’s the point. Their lips rush onto the other’s, fight enthusiastically even as she unbuttons his shirt. Annie nibbles on his bottom lip before tugging back, her seductive smile rising to expose the upper row of her pearly whites; the move enthralls Armin—Annie’s seductive goading gets him weak in the knees every time. He tilts her chin up, allowing a slight release of his wet, bottom lip before he slides his tongue along the side of hers. His fingers tremor as she rubs his lean pecs with one hand, palms his excited groin with the other. Armin groans. A rumble runs down his throat and Armin bets it would have been her devious snickering had his lips not covered his mischievous partner’s. Nonetheless, his busy lips tug up; he’s glad Annie enjoys this even if she’s planning a move which will break him down into a complaining mess later. Platinum-blond threads fly up from her falling backwards and she yanks him down by his shirt collars until her back meets the bed—he gets to lead tonight, it seems. 

Now, where does he start...for someone like Annie, where could he possibly begin? He runs his eyes and perspiring palms down her toned stomach, her hourglass sides, this feverish expanse of once pale, smooth skin which trembles needfully for more. 

This woman brought Eren and other strong men to their knees when she was only thirteen; in comparison to her, she makes him out to be a struggling ameba whereas every other cadet is an ant. She’s also killed countless people with dancer grace and animalistic ferocity as her fight in Stohess exposed. But Annie is so human, feels so much and hides so many emotions, Armin’s heart aches. He admires her like his fingers admire the power in her legs, drags each digit along the definition-lines on stone-strong quads and shins. These limbs are Annie’s greatest weapons and they were earned so horrifically. 

He kisses the middle of her shin—Annie told him she’d train until her legs were swollen and the limbs could no longer hold her up. He kisses her knee—it slammed into the face of someone who threatened to cut her clothes off, she said, and that man is lucky Annie hasn’t bothered to answer his question, “ _who and where is he?”_ His lips press into her muscled thighs, her flat stomach—so hungry for affection, she implied to him, to be released from duty, from pain he knows she doesn’t like to elaborate on. Recalling the harsh routines of Annie’s upbringing drives a stake of agony through Armin’s chest.

He rises. During his ascent to her upper half, the pad of his fingers brush against her firm belly, her breasts. Annie let’s go of this kind of mewl which flutters Armin’s eyelids and increases the tightness in his pants—she likes being touched like this, he knows she does. He cups the swelling curves which are just the right size for his hands, kneads thoughtfully. Her pink nipples are perked, sensitive and stiff between his fingers, and alongside the gentle moan Annie gifts him with, Armin lands soft kisses along the middle of her chest, moves to her temple, her forehead. 

Annie is tectonically powerful and intelligent — _“I never fell for Marley’s garbage propaganda”_ she coolly boasted — but Armin is aware that the terrible prize of winning the Female Titan came with loneliness and bloodshed and tears in being robbed of the most basic forms of love. 

“Stop thinking about sad things when we’re having sex,” Her ragged breathing and rosy flush worsens when he rubs her pert nipples between his forefinger and thumb. She squirms, grunts weakly, “It’s written all over your face and it’s a turn off.”

Armin lips curl albeit shyly—she’s figured him out too, “Sorry. I can’t help it. You were away for so long. I still have so much to say. And what you’ve been through...what I saw…I…”

There’s a sharp hiss from between clenched teeth, “Why don’t you _do_ rather than tell,” her hips push into his pelvis, “And hurry up, will you?”

Armin chuckles affectionately—he always knew she was impatient. But she’s right. He’ll sound overly passionate and cheesy if he told Annie everything—she might even fall asleep. He pushes his lips on hers at the same time Annie clings to him, digs her nails so hard into his shoulders, he groans into her mouth. He supports his hovering over Annie with his hands, their wet lips smacking and cheeks being filled with the other’s low to high moans. When she twists her head to the side, Armin claims her defenseless neck. Each nip and suck at her pulse-point leaves Annie panting, has her pressing her breasts into his chest when he leaves, plants his mouth over hers again. The soft-firmness of her abdomen to the cush of her breasts against him has tingling jolts shaking Armin’s supporting arms, antagonizes his already anxious erection. His knees widen at her hips to support most of him while his hands roam freely, journey from her perky breasts down her sides, tickling her ribs, her washboard-stomach. 

His fingertips then bump against rigid rifts along the skin on the back of her hips and lower back. Armin stops. He’s reminded of an unpleasant discovery: Annie’s legs and torso have scars— _why_ and _how_ does a shifter have them? How could scars exist when Annie’s had the ability to heal for more than half her life? Unless they existed...when her father was training her… 

Annie’s legs slip out from under him and clamp his sides. The next thing Armin knows, his world is spinning; his back slams against the mattress and a solid backside which Armin is _very_ familiar with sits on his stomach. Annie leans until their noses are centimeters apart. 

“You’re too damn _distracted,”_ she growls, strands of messy hair curtaining her eyes and sweaty forehead, “You should be focusing on eating _me_ out rather than whatever is eating at you.” 

Armin doesn’t speak a word—he doesn’t want to. He likes the close-up view of Annie’s flushed skin, of cushion-soft, pink lips, a scent which reminds him of vanilla; Annie always smells sweet and she _is_ as sweet as the baked goods she loves, even if she denies it. The bewitched man is pretty sure she’s scolding him right now but he doesn’t hear most of what Annie’s saying. 

“...Armin,” planets filled with all the blue he could ever want—ocean be damned—park in front of his sight, “I thought we agreed on helping each other out. So, stop thinking so much,” he’s aware it’s meant to be a firm order but it takes the form of a plea instead— _she’s_ pleading to _him, “_ It hurts you too much and I can’t watch anyone get hurt anymore.”

Shrapnel that is past sins ricochet so harshly in Armin’s lungs, he chokes. 

They’ve done horrible things to each other—Annie should hate his guts for unmasking her and while sadness taints his childhood, he had one; he had friends who he trusted. Annie was not so lucky. There’s this time where he viewed life through Bertholdt’s eyes; all of the warriors in training were haggard and irritable from an exhausting run around the dirt-crusted training yard. These crystal spheres which stare into Armin aren’t so hollow like the ones Child-Annie exposed to Bertholdt after she smashed a cricket under her foot, but she’s in there—that pained child who grew up to fight a war she was forced into, who grew up to be this woman he loves, lives in Annie somewhere. 

Annie’s cheeks indent slightly from Armin cupping her jaw. Their lips meld and Armin slips one hand behind her head, keeps her steady as his mouth on hers rolls up and down in long, hard strokes. He can’t give Annie the love she needed as a child but he’ll give her every bit of love he has—every drop of affection and attention he can find within the smallest atom inside himself, he’ll give to her. His tongue dipping past her lips has a hum of approval soar down his throat. Their tongues slide and swirl as Armin guides her head to the side, expanding the reach of his jaw. 

Armin rolls over until his spot above her is reclaimed; Annie demanded his attention below the equator so she’ll get it. The back of his fingers slide from below her belly button down to where there’s a thin patch of blond-curls. She’s so _slick,_ wetness already coats her thighs which part wider for him. Her legs flinch when his fingertips swirl against the soft nub of her clitoris so gently, teasing her like she enjoys doing to him. His fingers glide down her folds then up, his middle finger trailing down the soft, wet crease. He circles her entrance, avoids where she needs it most to force this kind of _growl_ Annie makes—one where her hips move on their own while her lips peel down, except her frustration doesn’t match her cherry-red face. It makes Armin smile. When he slips a finger inside, Annie relaxes, sighs. She’s grasping, a heartbeat and slick, soft muscle all in one; the wet sound of his thrusting and Annie’s labored pants fills the humming air. His groin throbs pleasurably and his pants have become too restraining—he’s likely pitching an embarrassingly obvious tent. 

Eager to hear more, Armin dips his head between her legs. Liquid heat pours from her and with his finger stuck knuckle-deep, Armin adds another, swirls the tip of his tongue around the swollen nub at the top of her sex. She cries out from the suddenness, the added thickness he gives which pushes her walls apart, pushes her open. He nips then flicks the tip of his tongue against the sensitive bud, sucks harshly and Annie bucks, lets loose moans so broken, his pants may very well explode off in bits. This woman is too much: too sweet, too hot, and too tight. Annie’s presence and stoic focus commands attention in every room she enters—no one with a weak spine dares oppose her. Except now when his fingers scissor inside her, her sleek, inner muscles convulsing around him as her body lays bare, is when she decides to let go, trusts him enough to be vulnerable. He shivers as much as the walls around his fingers do—Annie trusts _him._

Annie’s back arches as she hisses, “Damn it, Armin just _fuck me_ already _.”_

It’s a funny connection they share—Armin’s tortured groin was yelling at him the same thing.

Armin unzips and shucks off his pants, his boxers. Then she _touches_ him, rubs careful strokes on his cock which stands at full attention. He _should_ be embarrassed as he’ll have to scrub his boxers clean later; pre-come weeps from his slit and his shaft is so red and swollen, it _hurts._ Annie seems unphased. She swipes a thumb lightly across the tip and Armin muffles a cry with the knuckles of his left hand. That _smile_ spreads across Annie’s lips—it’s crooked and so violently devious, Armin fights to not let his eyes roll into the back of his head and pass out. Her neck bends and Armin’s brain short-circuits; every millimeter of her lips sliding down his cockhead is a slick haven, so much so, a high-note whine escapes him. A smile from the lips wrapped around him is his reward. Her cheeks draw in then slide down half-way, sucking then licking with the bed of her tongue. Armin runs his hands through his hair, fists the blond strands of his hair.

“I thought _\- agh -,”_ Armin wrenches his eyes shut, trying to form a coherent sentence, “Sex was _\- mngh -_ on your mind.”

Armin watches as her mouth retracting leaves behind a warm, wet shine on him _,_ “It is but making you squeal like a boy who hasn’t gone through puberty is equally as fun.” 

Armin’s own smile turns crooked, exposes his right incisor—he’ll remember _that_ slight for tomorrow. With her back straightening, Annie’s chin raises, a gesture which is so smug and pride-filled, a euphoric lightning bolt pulses Armin’s veins and cock. 

He dives right as Annie falls back. She doesn’t put up a fight when he pulls apart her legs, rests the back of her thighs against the tops of his quadriceps. He works around Annie’s impatient squirming as he tilts her hips up, lines up to her swollen slit; he lunges in. Warmth fits over Armin so quick and smooth, he gasps in sync with Annie. She tilts her chin back, her eyes unfocused as Armin gets consumed in slick, close-fitting heat. His bangs dangle after lowering his head, his lower abdomen tight as he struggles to stay in place—it’s a genuine fight for him to not release or pound into her backside after he’s filled her. Her legs wrap around his waist then grip him powerfully before bucking. A half grunt escapes Armin. She’s egging him on to hurry up and damned if she didn’t know how to do it.

His hips punch in slow and hard and no matter how many times they’ve done this, no matter how many _more_ times they _will_ do this, Armin gasps from all-consuming heat. Beneath him, scared puppy-like noises leave Annie, a sound which is so uncharacteristically needy and frail from her, Armin groans. Armin grabs Annie’s shoulders and kisses her vengefully hard. Annie’s tongue lashes around his, not aggressively but desperately, clinging to him, like her body does around his cock. Armin eases his hips back, breaking the kiss roughly and wetly, then thrusts back into her. Annie yelps sharply, judders beneath him. He pushes in and out and Annie’s whole body radiates heat, all too welcome during this cold time of year, and her legs and rear tremble hard against Armin’s thighs and sides. She’s wet and hot and strong — everything about her is _gorgeous._

“You’re fucking me too sentimentally,” she’s trying to mock him except her words are too weighed down by emotion. Another bottoming-out plunge brings a high sigh and a thick clicking in her throat, “You should _-hah-_ knock that off.”

He won’t, not now not ever. Armin looks down at her how he wants, he plows into her how he wants—powerful but sluggishly. Every part of Annie needs praise and long seconds to soak in how indestructible her body is—this vessel which carried her mind and soul through so much misery. Annie’s eyelids slam shut when he bottoms out in furnace-hot tightness. Panic skips his heart—tears are sliding down the side of her face. He stops, horrified he’s done something wrong until her face turns to stare at the wall, mumbling words he can’t hear; she does that when she’s silly enough to think she’s unworthy. Armin kisses along the salty stream, working to wipe it all away. She doesn’t want to see anyone in pain and he doesn’t want to make her cry—she’s been through enough hell already. He withdraws and pushes in again, picks up speed slowly until her jaw is slack and eyes are no longer watery but unfocused. With each dive inside her, he rubs patterns around her clit until there’s a tightness building in his groin and a pulse in her core. Armin grunts minorly; the spasming of Annie’s body is getting too intense too quickly.

A sobbing, hitchy breath escapes Annie, “Armin, I-I’m— “

He’s close too. Armin picks up speed, drives in hard and fast. Annie shouts in surprise, throws her hips back at him. He moans weakly, his sight hazy. His hips try to pull back, to pull out, but Annie’s legs have locked him in too tightly. One second more and he shouts as Annie cries out. Her climax shakes her and her walls _grab him_ , a vortex of such strong strangulating muscles and heat, he finally spills. He loses strength in each half-dozen thrusts he pumps in until he stops, having been drained completely. 

Her legs around his hips go limp just as his softening cock does. Armin pulls out, collapses at her side. They journey to find steady breathing again and just like their skin is sticky from sweat, the desire to stare at Annie remains glued to his mind. This thought must be mutual—Annie rotates onto her slim side, homes in on his eyes.

Gently, his hands take hold of her face, cradles her as he would a baby bird who has fallen from a nest. Annie usually fights him off when he tries to treat her softly; instead, this woman who he loves sighs, rubs her cheek into his right hand. He nuzzles his forehead against hers, marinates in everything which composes Annie—warmth, kindness, empathy, all gentle embers she always had but were starved of growth by the cold of the world. 

“I like your hands,” Annie’s words come out like a praising sigh. Her thumb runs over the bumps of his knuckles, “They’re comforting and kind...I wish I had them sooner.”

Armin’s brows fall, mourning past decisions with her. Unseen enemies and suspicion of a spy forced him to turn her in; Annie’s upbringing and purpose revolved around killing all who obstructed the goal in retrieving the Founding Titan—Eren. And in that short span of life she spent on Marley, Bertholdt saw in his childhood what Armin saw in the training ground on Paradis—Annie looked so _lonely._

“I wish I could have reached you sooner…” he murmurs, “When I saw your eyes back in training, I could tell you’d seen terrible things—you, Reiner, Bertholdt. I thought it was because you witnessed titans. Then I saw how terribly Marley treated you all, how even civilians persecuted and spit on Eldians. But you kept fighting even though you knew you’d die in thirteen years. To endure so much when so young...” his thumb wipes against the spot where her tear once fell, “You’re amazingly strong to have survived it all, Annie.”

Annie laughs except there’s no sharp sting of mocking; it’s gentle, soft, “I told you to stop thinking about sad things—you’re dragging me down with you,” satin-smooth fingertips brush away the bangs on his forehead, “You didn’t have it easy either.”

“Yes, but I had friends and my grandfather…all you had was your training. I couldn’t have done anything without Mikasa or Eren when I was the same age you were back then. With how weak I am, had I been in your shoes, I wouldn’t have lasted in such a place...”

Annie flicks his nose so hard, Armin jolts, scrunches his face around, “ _Stop_ comparing us. It annoys me and it’s as useless as when Magath and Jean were fighting about Eldian’s 2000-year history. It did nothing for us then and it won’t do anything now.”

Guilt overrides Armin—he’s likely sullied the mood here. He retreats to another thought, one which Annie reminds him of every day.

He kisses her cheek and so tenderly, he admits, “You’re wonderful, Annie. I always thought you were, even after everything happened.”

His heart palpates when blond lashes quiver like butterfly wings. She’s quiet — there’s doubt in her normalizing pupils, “I killed kids and adults alike. I tried to kidnap your closest friend and almost stomped on all three of you. I was cowardly and ran when I was captured. I challenged your daydream plan of talking to Eren the entire way to Odiha. Someone like you... _ha._ I don’t see how anyone could think _that_ after everything that’s happened.”

“Except I did. That probably doesn’t mean much coming from _me_ , of all people, but I did. I still think that too.”

She appears more confused than shocked, the crystal-blue of her eyes so transparent, Armin wonders if the color forms from the ferocity smoldering within Annie. In a tiny, insecure voice she asks “...how could you think that?” 

...has he really never told her? That can’t be right. But as Armin recalls, the aftermath of everything was horrendously disorganized. He may not remember—he may not have told her enough times either with them being so busy. That needs fixing. 

“I can’t count how many times I watched you fight,” Armin smiles, “It was amazing to see someone barely taller than Historia toss guys as big as Reiner around. In all my years, I’ve never seen anyone last long in a fight against Mikasa either. You quieted the classroom just by standing up to answer a question. You didn’t hold back when you answered Connie and I when we made our choice, even back in Stohess when you challenged me. You never treated me like I needed to be taken care of, needed to be protected…,” he pauses, “That meant a lot to me, Annie.” 

The red flush on Annie’s hunching shoulders has cooled and transferred to her cheeks, “I wouldn’t insult you like that, or anyone else for that matter.”

His lips skid along her collarbone before pressing into the softness of her shoulder, “And that’s why I thought you were wonderful back then too. Even when you had to hide, you were being you. And with everything I’ve seen when we visited Liberio—the ghettos, the training zones, the prisons—for you to keep a heart as kind as yours, to bother to save or help anyone, let alone Paradisians, after you’ve been hurt so much…it’s amazing, Annie.”

Annie’s lower lip trembles—what follows next isn’t what he wanted. Annie’s eyes well with unshed tears, are coloring red with threat to let them pour. Her cheek skids in his palm when she shakes her head—she doesn’t believe him still. And he just _told himself_ he didn’t want to make her cry _._ Armin scrambles to conjure another thought.

“Between you and me, if I was born in Marley and enrolled to win one of the Nine Titans,” he glances over his shoulder, acting as if someone was watching. Armin returns to her, whispering, “I think I would have bribed some of the kids or sergeants to fail others so I could jump up some ranks.”

Annie scoffs but with a weak, sarcastic smile, “That’s not surprising to me at all. But you realize how driven we were to become an Honorary Marleyan, don’t you? We dedicated our lives to it.”

“Secrets sell. And you’d be surprised how many times people will throw others under the bus just to get a better chance.”

Annie snorts, “The more gullible kids, maybe.” 

“Though if my alternate self was stupid and conniving enough to do it on you, you’d probably laugh in my face before I tried.”

“You’re half-right—I’d kick up dirt in your face, flip you over, _then_ laugh at you before you could try.”

A fond resonance shakes Armin’s chest, “I’d deserve it too.” The back of his fingers pet her cheek, “But all things considering, I’m glad I was born where I was. I’m glad I met you. The volunteers too, the outside world, even those in Liberio. Had I been born in the outside world...I’m not sure I would be the same person I am now.”

By the slightest uptick of one brow, Annie seems perplexed, “You don’t mean that.”

Armin frowns. Doesn’t he? He’s not so sure himself. The words sort of fell out of him, “I’m not saying I’m _happy_ about what any of us had to do or what I decided to do. I’ll never forget it — I’ll live with who I killed and who I hurt and almost killed for the rest of my life. I’ve got enough nightmares to prove so. But sometimes I wonder...if I wasn’t born on Paradis, if I was born in your internment camp or was raised a Marleyan, maybe I wouldn’t be here right now. Maybe I’d be one of the first to be stomped on.”

“You wouldn’t have suffered so much either. You could have had a normal life. You wouldn’t have had to live with any burdens like both of us do now, as well.”

Armin recycles her words in his head, “I suppose. And if I was a Rumbling casualty, death would be easier than how we’re living now...but we’re still here. I feel like it’s a curse, at first, but most days I feel like I’m more than surviving. I’m still figuring out what other ways I can make amends, if there’s other ways I can stop falling into low self-worth…” Armin drifts over to his desk and Annie’s musical instruments which sit in the room’s corner—they’re personal joys they discovered on their own, Annie going so far to say music was a way to give back to others after a life of selfishness. With how frequently she’s been using the apples from their apple tree, he’d say jams and pies might be another way too, “We’ve found ways already and maybe that’s enough for now. I don’t really know...but at least I have choices, even if they’re hard to make. I’m also glad you decided to be with me too. I hope... I hope I’m helping you too.”

A succession of rapid blinks is what Annie gives him. Her eyes warm eventually, soften as her eyelids fall half-way, “You are. And sometimes you can’t help me, but you’re here—that’s enough,” calm blue roll to stare into the pillow they share, “I don’t agree with everything though. I’ll never forget what happened. I don’t know if the nightmares will ever stop. I thought death was the best escape—I still think it is. I know you do too. But I’m here...I don’t know if I’m happy about that or not still. But...” her arms flinch then her forearms rise, loop around his neck, “I don’t think I’m allowed to say this...but I’m glad I met you all too: Mina, Hitch, Eren, you; I wonder if in another life, Pieck and I could have been close too. Maybe even Bertholdt and Reiner...” 

He throws the covers over them for added warmth as roman and button noses bend side to side from his repeated rubbing—that always seems to cheer Annie up, “I don’t think I’m allowed either, but I feel the same way. Maybe that’s just how surviving goes...sometimes I wish someone would tell me so I’d know for sure.”

“...me too,” Annie burrows her nose and face into his shoulder. She yawns against him, “I’m tired and we’ve already spoken enough about the past. Let’s save the serious talk for tomorrow.”

One of Armin’s hands rests over her bicep while the other is idle at her lower back. Annie rests until soon, light snoozes sing out of her. Armin remains awake. 

It’s a foreign concept to this day—they have a tomorrow. There’s living in the present, sure, but latched on is what he’ll do the next day: will he and Annie go into town, water the garden, or will he brainstorm the book he’s plotting out? He doesn’t know. It’s all up in the air and there’s no guillotine of outside forces threatening to come down on them at any day. As slender arms pull Annie closer to his body, Armin’s cheek nuzzles her soft, blond crown. 

What will happen tomorrow scares him more than excites him but Armin’s glad Annie is at his side to face the mystery with him. 


	2. Dinner (Experienced)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Annie finds out Armin dressed up like Historia and doesn’t like being called cute. Annie tries to help him forget.
> 
> Ch.2 Experienced-Blowjob

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think back to one Smartpass interview where Armin said he doesn’t like being called cute, especially since it intensifies the viewpoint of him looking like a girl. [Smartpass Interview](https://plain-dude.tumblr.com/post/93603803438/armin-au-interview-translated-by-plain-dude) (And there is an Annie reference in there ahhh)
> 
> I think I’ll use this fic to explore how Armin/Annie get comfortable with each other in their sex lives. There’s nothing linear, just whatever topic I get finished with first. With the occasional chapter to be filthy, of course, lmao. I just can’t help myself ;(

Annie’s attention doesn’t leave Armin’s discomforted expression. His fork prods absent-mindedly at the noodles making up his dinner, clears his throat again when she fails in providing a response. For Annie, it’s difficult to multi-task as she’s currently trying not to bend her fork back with the force of her thumb. 

“So, in order to find out who was trying to kidnap Eren and Historia…” Annie repeats, “You and Jean took on both of their roles and wore their clothes. You were captured. Then someone...touched you?” 

Armin shudders violently. His head shakes as if to knock himself out of it, “Yes, I did. I’m glad Mikasa, Sasha, or other Scouts didn’t endure such an experience. That... doesn’t mean I’m happy I had to go through that though. Sometimes I still feel his hands moving around my chest and Jean was watching the entire time...”

_She’s_ not happy either. Given Armin’s...uncanny resemblance to Historia back then, it makes sense why Armin was selected to be a fake Historia. But finding out some stranger swiped their filthy hands all over him, treated him as if he was some piece of meat to be toyed with against his will. Annie can’t fight off the urge—the metal from her fork creaks from how she slowly bends it back.

“I’ve made you mad,” he sighs, transitions his sight to the kitchen sink, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No, I’m glad you told me. It explains what made... _that_ so awkward.”

Armin rubs the back of his neck. He doesn’t like being reminded of how skittish he was during their first few times learning each other’s bodies just like Annie doesn’t, “Yea…”

“Did you ever find him again?”

“There was never a need to.”

“...do you remember what he looked like?”

“Annie, _no._ You’re not going to do your ‘detective work’ on him. He’s not worth it. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s in prison.”

“That’s not harsh enough, in my opinion.”

Armin’s shoulders slump, “Annie I don’t want to talk about this anymore...can’t we just eat? Please?”

Annie’s hand waves in silent acknowledgement and semi-apology. Those cerulean gems which help ease her don’t dare look into her winter-ice ones; he’s brought up quite a sore subject. The remaining time of their dinner is consumed with the sounds of Armin eating. Annie, however, has lost her appetite. It always comes back to the choices needing to be made at a given time, how much like him to her back in Stohess, Armin is the best chance to execute a plan correctly when words or appearance needs to be used. Though there is a curiosity poking her brain…

Annie recalls Armin at fifteen, mentally flitters through which skirt of Historia’s Armin wore, how he looked in it, and did he wear those button up shirts which so many other girls loved to wear? Historia had long hair too—did he manage to grow it out longer than in the time she had been away? Perhaps not, but he’d need a wig either way and the thought tickles Annie’s funny bone enough to crimp the side of her mouth. Armin’s physique is a form easily hidden with his clothes; the monster who touched him must have been puzzled when the leanness of his body surpassed most girls, that breasts were actually squares of a man’s lean chest...unless Armin wore chest padding too. Annie wants to choke the man who put these bad memories in Armin’s head but beyond the trauma of his horrid situation, the thought of him in girl outfits prompts her to smile ever so slightly.

Across the way, Armin pulls his mouth to the side. He’s seen this kind of smile from Annie before; it’s mischievous and taunting, the kind where one tooth pokes out with her corner smirk.

“Annie...what is it?”

Annie shrugs. She swishes around water in a glass then says before she sips, “Nothing. I just think that you’d make a cute girl.” 

Red creeps up Armin’s neck quicker than she can blink. He eyes her cup, “Annie, have you been fermenting more potatoes?”

“No, why?”

“Oh,” his eyes avert, “Nothing.”

“Did you think I was _drunk?”_

“Well, I—yes. Yes, I did.”

She flicks a leftover piece of fat on her plate so it flies and bounces off his forehead, “Not very polite of you. Plus, I told you. The alcohol is for money on the side, not for me to drink. I hate that stuff.”

He chuckles, nervous, “Right, sorry.”

Annie leans back in her chair, not taking her eyes off him, “You know, whether you were a boy or a girl, I’d take you. You’d be cute either way.”

Armin flushes though it’s paired with a tiny frown. In an odd way, he’s appreciative she’d be with him regardless of the form he’d take. Though his masculinity being put into question never delighted him. His new haircut has helped him show how he's matured and is growing into a man... _he_ likes to think.

The mental storm flinching Armin’s face alarms Annie. She taps her finger against the flimsy wood table top. 

“Did what I just say bother you?” the softness in her words hints she feels she’s gone too far. 

“Not as much as it would have a few years ago. It still kind of bugs me. I disguised myself to help gain an advantage but then some stranger starts rubbing my chest, as if he expected to find breasts. It wasn’t exactly...a pleasant situation. I know you’re trying to put a positive spin on all this…but it’s hard for me to see it that way.” 

Annie thoughtfully twirls a lone strand of her hair before tucking it behind her ear. She should have known better than to try to use humor when she doesn’t know how to use it well yet, “Understood. I thought I was being...I don’t know. Helping, in a way. This comforting thing…” 

“It’s okay, Annie. I’m just voicing how I feel, is all.”

The reassuring tune in his voice relieves the anxiety bunching in Annie’s chest though it’s quickly replaced with remorse. There are no words she can offer which help him and if there were, she doesn’t know them. Her hugs are getting... _better_ though there’s far more room to improve. Her hesitation toward intimacy has died enough that they’re able to fool around more in bed; she’s got enough practice in foreplay to not be too afraid for when they eventually reach sex. 

There’s a rustling and Armin lifts his head. Annie’s chair is empty. He twists his head side to side— the kitchen and living room is also barren. Then there’s a hot coal warmth on his clothed thighs; Armin jerks so hard, his shirt could fly off him.

“A-Annie!” Armin sputters. He scoots back in his chair a little, focusing newly wide eyes on the woman between his legs. “What…!”

He hisses a little from her pinch on top of his quad, “Be quiet. You clearly think there’s a lack of proof on you being a man, so I’m helping you find it. Now scoot back more. I’ll hit my head if you don’t move.”

  
  


Prehistoric want has Armin obey while his perplexed expression remains. Annie settles on her knees between his knees, cups her hand over the bulge between his legs. A mix of embarrassment and relief all exhale from Armin. She unzips him and pulls out his hardening shaft; Armin helps her in sliding his pants down to his ankles before his brain registers he did. A soft, small hand takes his base, squeezes with just enough pressure for Armin to groan pleasurably, shudder as Annie moves slow, smooth strokes against him. His flesh reddens, pumps with more blood until his cock is red, hard, stands fully erect. Her fingertips absorb heat and a strong heartbeat through puckering, sleek skin all the while Armin grunts through gritted teeth. 

  
  


“You told me you were an advisor to the top of the food chain for four years. I also watched you stand up to Garrison members who aimed to do you and your friends harm. You became _Commander,_ for fucks sake,” her sharp exhale is riddled with mocking and incredulous undertones, “You sound ridiculous when you doubt or demean yourself—same story goes for when you doubt your masculinity.”

Armin’s cheeks glow crimson-red. Annie’s harsh but he understands it’s her way of trying to stop the negative thoughts. She kisses the hot, spongy underside, smirks at the reactive twitch her lips catch from his stiff flesh. Clear fluid drips down his length and Annie guides herself up, laps gently at his cockhead. Armin lets loose a broken moan which sounds so girlish, Annie could sneer.

“You _really_ don’t have to do this, Annie...”

The top of Annie’s hand hits the inside of his knee in reprimand. Of course, she doesn’t have to—she _wants_ to. Armin winces, his firm leg muscles trembling. His words are just a formality to gauge her comfort anyway—Armin’s a man like any other who craves being touched like this. Maybe he’ll like something else.

“You underestimate how nice your dick is, Armin.” Annie rubs a strong thumb up and down his distended pole, “Not too long and thick enough to leave me bursting.”

Armin twitches hard in her grip but _tomatoes_ are less red than her sweet boyfriend right now. He whines, “Annie…” as he desperately hides his radiating face in his hands; she grins with cunning intent—she wants to make him blush harder.

Meanwhile, Armin watches her through foggy, heavy-lidded eyes. Annie’s tongue laves at the underside of his length, leaving no purplish-red skin unslick. His imagination must be _sick_ but he’s relating how Annie licks him to how one would a peppermint stick—up and down, rolls her tongue over the tip, sucks his head. She’s gotten _better_ and his brain is sputtering and popping with pleasure, his hips rutting forward for more.

“I’m starting to think you like this too much, Annie...” Skyrocketing body heat has his arms and chest sweat in his long-sleeve shirt, lightly dampening the fabric—he wonders how much worse the red in his face looks too, “You’re getting _too_ good at this.”

The busy woman darts her eyes up through fanned, blond lashes. Her mouth widens until her teeth graze all around his length. Armin chokes out a petrified yelp, “AGH! _Stop that!!”_

A huff and a seductively dangerous glare are what he gets, “Then don’t get cheeky with me.” Half a thumbpad and a nail sinks into the hole in his tip, igniting jerks and hisses from Armin, “You’re not going to complain or give me any more lip. Are you?”

_No,_ he absolutely was _not_. His discomfort grows into pleased groans when peach lips return on him, alternates licking and sucking his shaft. He shivers when Annie reaches his base—her mouth forms a small ‘o’ shape and she sucks at the stem of his length. He groans in response—low and deep in his throat, almost like a rumble from his chest. A thrill races down her spine.

“ _Annie…”_ Armin doesn’t finish and to Annie, he doesn’t need to. 

Annie takes him in her mouth and descends centimeter by centimeter, taking her time. Her tongue lavishes the half she’s taken in, massages along a palpable vein and over the little hole enough that Armin lets out one a loud, muffled moan. Eventually Armin’s dick is brushing against the back of her throat, lying heavy and swollen on her tongue. She slowly pulls off his erection, then bobs her head at an agonizingly snail-like pace.  
  
  


  
Armin nestles a hand on the back of her golden head, follows her head-bobs but never leads. His head swims and crackles with fuzziness, like he’s been drugged—he can’t stop the gaping of his mouth either. Pleasure and intrigue has Armin wondering how she swallows him so smoothly, how Annie’s mouth gliding on him has a muggy, wet climate—he wonders if being inside her would be like that too. The animalistic side of him zeroes in on the tight oval of Annie’s mouth—how nice Annie looks when her mouth is stuffed with his size, how saliva creeps out the corners of her mouth or how her eyebrows flinch when he bumps the back of her throat. A high moan escapes his throat when she simultaneously sucks and rubs his tight balls with her free hand.

  
  
  


Between his legs, Annie’s lips curl. She withdraws from Armin’s rigid cock, sneering, “And you say I’m the loud one during sex.”  
  
  


The rare expression of frustration falls over Armin, “Aren’t you _busy_ with something?”

Annie clutches his spit-damp base hard and Armin sputters nonsensical noises, “A smart man like you shouldn’t say stupid things like that when I’m in this position. And what did I just say about complaining?”  
  
  


“Fine! Fine! Annie, just…” A desperate moan tumbles out of him. “ _Please…”_

  
Triumphant, Annie tucks hair behind her ear, leans down and takes him into her mouth again. Her tongue laps at his hard pole and purposefully, she moans around him, pumps the half she didn’t take in with her hand at a quicker pace. Armin chokes on his breathing, digs the nails of his free hand into his chair to remain still and not buck deeper into her throat. Once her hand set a steady rhythm, Annie bobs her head, following the movement of her hand and acting alongside it; when her hand goes down, she goes up and when she descends, her hand glides up to meet her lips.  
  
  


  
Her moves reward her with another lovely little whine, to which she smirks around her mouthful. When her lips reach the base of Armin’s cock, she glances upward to see Armin’s eyes are tightly shut. His face is deeply flushed, he’s biting his lip and every muscle in his neck and chest-muscles are tight. Annie tightens her mouth around Armin, sucks steadily until she finds that balance between pressure and gentleness. Armin keeps singing his moaning song for her while Annie ensures she never keeps up the same routine for too long—Annie quickens the pace of her hand, keeps her bobbing at the same slow pace, laps at his tip when she pulls her lips off before sliding in his swollen flesh again. 

“Annie this is— “he groans from the pit of his stomach before he can finish his sentence, “ _Wow.”_

  
Armin releases another high-pitched, strangled sob and Annie almost wants to draw away from his cock again and laugh. But she keeps focused. He’s close—Annie can tell by the telltale spasms in the shaft cradled in her mouth. She doesn’t relent—Annie sucks harder, moves a hand to cup and rub the uptight balls drawn tight against Armin’s body. Armin sobs like a grieving widow and ruthlessly, Annie sucks harder and harder before he shouts. His hips buck as he comes and Annie sucks him through his orgasm, pulls spurt after spurt down her throat until he’s drained of every drop.

  
  
  


Armin slumps in his chair, sweaty and glassy-eyed. The pleasant tingle in his curled toes and buzzing in his head wanes after minutes then clears, summer days emerging from the mental fog which once occupied Armin’s head. He realizes where he is—he’s in the kitchen with Annie. Armin blushes hotter than as hell itself at how powerfully he finished and Annie didn’t flee this time—she _swallowed_ it all. He hiccups from the shock, bends his head backwards over his chair while covering his face—he can’t look her in the eye. 

Always calm and collected, Annie stands up from between his legs. Whenever he sits, the short woman can _barely_ stand above him but the pride in her posture and gaze has Armin sinking down further in his chair. Annie leans down and kisses him with those same lips which brought him crumbling to his core. She runs her hands down his arms, his chest, both lean as a swimmer’s yet contoured and chipped with definition.

“I’ll do exactly what that creep did a hundred times over,” she kisses his cheek then his neck, “So you can replace the memory with me,” Annie perches herself on his bare thighs, her entire front facing him as she works to unbutton his shirt, “And if you point this man out to me, I’ll kill him.”

Armin harrumphs though amusement is laced in it, “I thought that you and I have had enough of that, Annie.” 

“This is a special exception—I actually want to kill him.”

His hands rest on her hips and Armin admits, he enjoys the reactive pull he gets when he touches Annie; she pushes into him, sighs when he strokes his thumb on the flesh on her exposed thigh. She returns the favor with oven-warm palms stroking the middle of his chest. 

“He’s not worth it,” Armin cuddles his face into her neck, “All I need is you.” 

“I can see why you’d think that given how I’ve mastered the art of sucking you off.”

“...Annie, I was trying to have a moment. I wasn’t trying to say I only need you to get something from you…”

“...oh...sorry. Old habit.”

Armin snickers at the scarlet embarrassment painting her cheeks. He pulls Annie in with both hands, kisses her cheek hard enough that it indents— _she_ blushes hard every time he does that. 

“It’s okay. Every time we fool around is just a bonus. That’s always how I’ve seen it, Annie.” The back of his fingers run over on the landscape of her cheek until he stops, comes to about a recent unfairness. He glances down to the edge of Annie’s oversized shirt, where the space between Annie’s legs is. He focuses on her gaze again, “Want me to return the favor? I can carry you to the bed.”

Armin assumes Annie is thinking. Those attention-grabbing blue pools are hazy, distant. Her hair sways with her headshake, “No, maybe later. I ...like this. How we are right now.”

Happiness must shine off him like the blinding sun to one’s eyes—Annie shrivels into herself, glances away, but she remains on his lap. Armin’s arms lasso around Annie’s waist as he tugs her in, burrows the side of his face into Annie’s shoulder. Annie’s cheek rubs against his face as her arms gradually wrap around him. 

“I like it too, Annie.”


	3. Embarrassed (Inexperienced)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They've messed around before...but not like this

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've always wanted to do some kind of mix between inexperienced/experienced aruani NSFW so I think I'll use this fic to do so. 
> 
> I'll also mark the chapters for what happens because lets face it, some don't want to get blueballed/scroll for specific spiciness--I know I sure as hell don't lmao.
> 
> Ch.3: Inexperienced-Grinding

A bitter cold invades the outside though Armin doesn’t need to seek refuge beneath the sheets. Annie sits on his lap, secures his warmth as his neck remains tilted up. His mouth slants over hers, their strained breathing mixing, body heat spiking. Usually, their make-out sessions are gentle, chaste except Annie has been changing his expectations lately. Hands which could snap his neck or flutter his eyelids hold his jaw while Armin’s hands idle on her firm lower back, keeping his love close. He gauges how far he can go, slips his tongue between her lips. A musical note of approval is Annie’s answer. Her tongue slithers along and coils around his, their cheeks reddening and breathing straining until getting air shifts into a top priority. Wet lips part with an obscene smack, a string of saliva connecting their bottom lips.

“To think you’d leave me this breathless when you never made me break a sweat on the training yard,” Annie says between breaths. She tucks messy hair behind her ear in effort to better her vision, “Four years must have given you a lot of time to fool around.”

The drunk excitement in Armin’s gaze erodes, blends in with sadness. He doesn’t like it when Annie thinks this way, “Annie...I understand it’s hard to believe, but there was no one else before you. On top of how I felt about you…” Armin’s head declines, viewing milky thighs which her night shirt barely hide, “Let’s just say there was a lot distracting me from even thinking about getting rid of...that.”

“Virginity. You shouldn’t be embarrassed to say it, especially around me.”

Armin glances about the room, self-conscious, “Right...” But much like Annie has been full of questions, he’s curious too, “But Annie...I’d...if you could tell me, I’d appreciate it. Even before you came to Paradis, even before or during our training, was there anyone else you had some kind of interest in? A childhood crush maybe? Someone taller or stronger...maybe…?”

“No,” Annie’s direct but quiet, “There was no one. You?”

Her question sounds timider and more insecure than he’s used to hearing. Armin shakes his head, “Not really. There was one girl I was curious about when I was a kid but...she didn’t exactly end up being nice person. I had to find that out the hard way.”

“I’ll have to thank her for being such a massive dipshit,” Annie deadpans, “I don’t like competition.”

Armin laughs, breathy, “They wouldn’t last a second against you.” Hardly anyone could—it’s one of the traits like this moment which leaves Armin amazed. Annie is so malnourished in the art of conversation but she so easily creates such a motivated fire in him—even one of her smiles could make him sprint until his legs broke. His hand rests where the lower curve of her buttock meets her thigh, the soft fringes on the side of his head rubbing into the cushy middle of her chest. 

“You never had competition and you won’t ever,” He sighs, so dreamlike and at peace, “You’re more than I deserve because you’re everything I’ve ever wanted, Annie.” 

Annie’s gut twists. Her anxiety isn’t from worrying Armin is lying but that he’s dedicated himself to her, someone who doesn’t necessarily understand love or can comprehend why he loves her so dearly. She doesn’t feel worthy, just like he doesn’t, but she’ll never let him go. Armin is too gentle and genuine a man, a fictional unicorn in her harsh male upbringing, to ever let him slip away. Annie sandwiches his face between her hand, pulls him to her mouth. 

Armin blinks, surprised at her forwardness. His face is held hostage, being feasted on by a five-foot temptress he doesn’t want to be saved from. They kissed as if they were sharing a round hard candy between their mouths, sucking one another’s tongue or rolling them over each other. It’s awkward and feels weird, but it’s nice—Armin thinks he could do just this for hours. His hands slide in a slow creep up her thighs, slip under her large nightshirt. She sighs sweetly when palms as hot as sauna stones skid over her back and finely protruding ribs. He ventures further down iron-strong sides, luxuriating in every soft touch he can pour over her skin. They part for her air again but Armin descends, rains open-mouthed kisses over her throat and down until he’s met with the scratchy border of her shirt collar.

He pauses, “Um…”

“...just get it over with and take it off.”

Black squiggle lines are forming before Armin’s vision—he’s getting dizzy. They’ve fooled around when she just had a bra and undergarments on but never with her being completely topless. He inhales and exhales sharp and quick, “I’ll do it too. So, we’re even.”

Annie lips swish around, her cheeks rose-pink and unable to hold his gaze. She nods. 

He joins the girl who is as nervous as him in shedding their tops, tosses the garments to the side. He gulps when her back arches in movement to remove her bra. She shivers upon full contact with the cold night air but Armin isn’t chilly at all—the surge of blood rushing to his groin scalds him. Annie’s breasts are petite but round and firm, tipped with pink nipples which remind him of small pencil eraser-tips. A firm line of definition splits her abdomen all the way past the border of her underwear. Noticing how she’s sitting on him _in her_ _underwear_ makes the young man wince, suffer from a sudden case of heatstroke. For a second, he focuses on the wall, trying to ignore the distracting pulse in his cock.

“What?” Insecurity intrudes her tone again, “Do I look weird?”

He blinks rapidly out of fear, snaps back to Annie. His girlfriend swears Armin grows eight eyes from how quickly he shakes his head side to side, _“No!!_ Not at all! I just,” he blinks down then rises up, “You look beautiful, Annie. It’s...I have to catch my breath sometimes. Even you just sitting on me like this...you do a lot of things to me.”

The unease wrinkling Annie’s forehead diminishes. Her lips twitch into a tiny, appreciative smile. Ultra-soft hands slide up and down his lean pecs; he quivers, “Same with you to me. You were handsome before but when I first saw you...” Annie ducks her head—he has to maneuver around to sneak a peek at the pink cheeks she tries hard to hide, “I noticed you filled out nicely... _very_ nicely, actually.”

The heat jetting through Armin turns so sharp, he swallows thickly—it’s a hard effort to keep his cool. He lifts his hand to Annie’s cheek, runs his finger down, “And I say this too many times already, I know...but, I love everything about you, Annie.” 

Annie snorts except it’s half-hearted, dull, “You’ll give me a bigger ego if you keep praising me like that.”

His head bows yet his shy smile and embarrassment are countered by his wholesomely determined gaze,” I do but I’m going to keep telling you. You can’t stop me.”

“I can’t…” is Annie’s surprising response—he expected a snide come back but she gave him a monotone acknowledgement. He waits for more words from her, but they don’t come.

Meanwhile, Armin’s overwhelmed, drowned by the angelic sight and candy-sweet smell Annie emits just by sitting on him. They’ve been separated for so long, finally had chances to speak to each other like they do now. And to think, despite everything they’ve done, it all culminated into where they are _now._ He won’t take a second for granted. 

Armin sits up slightly, transitioning his hold to her waist. He slants his head, kisses her.

Annie’s immediately responsive. She curls her body into his, presses her chest to his, sweeps hands anywhere and everywhere she can. Her breasts are _soft_ , bouncy and nipples hard from either the cold or excitement bend against him. He brings his arms around her, linking them behind her back, drawing her impossibly closer. Her hands cup his cheeks, giving him a long, wet kiss, which nearly has Armin cracking every knuckle of his toes.

The excited man withdraws, kisses her collarbone, up her neck and jaw until his lips find Annie’s again. His tongue dips in again, pulling out a soft groan from Annie. He grips the back of her neck with one hand and her hip with the other to keep her tighter on him. Her hips flinch forward, anxious and wanting, skidding over _him_. Blood rushes to his cock, but there’s somehow enough left over to paint his face bright pink too. The throb of his dick tight against the front of his jeans grows unbearable as they kiss, pulses so fiercely that when Annie grinds again, the tent between his legs pokes her thigh. When she peers down, the red in her cheeks glows as fierce as her boyfriend’s face. 

Armin backs off a little bit, giving her space, “Sorry…” he mumbles, “I don’t, um, I don’t have much control over that...”

“You’re fine,” she assures him, monotone but genuine. She’s not as embarrassed as he thinks. It’s comforting somehow, seeing his cock strain against fabric, press up thick and aimed toward his hip. He’s gotten so riled up just by kissing and touching that she’s surprised she has such an effect on him. A curiosity is born as is a hot, hungry curl which aches between her legs; Annie ensures her lower half hovers near his erection, experimentally bucks against him. 

Armin yowls so comically, the tips of Annie’s ears burn—he’s _sensitive_. A redness crawls up his neck, a trophy for what she’s just done; Annie caves into temptation. She leans down, mouths at the crimson skin; tentatively, she drags her tongue over it. Armin’s hands fall to her waist, one sliding up her back while the other travels down, skimming over the clothed curve of her ass. Annie rocks forward from the motion, a needy whine falling from her lips. That electrical spark of arousal guides Armin’s hand down, slips beneath her underwear to knead at her ass. Annie creates a short sound, one akin to someone having just read something interesting.

Like his mouth, his _hands_ are something else—soft yet rough in his squeezing and leaving no inch of her untouched. She holds him close by the back of his head, grinds harder against him. His mini-whimpers transform to moans as she provides all the friction he needs. The pace of their movements increases, turns sloppier and messier, loses all the finesse and gentleness of the beginning. She wants _more._

Before Annie can think, she backtracks, drops her palm over his groin. Armin hiccups and jerks, his cock jumping with him. He’s imagined Annie touching him plenty of times though it’s nowhere near the real thing—she’s not even _really_ touching him and the warmth of her being close is already mind-blowing. Warm, slender fingers tremble, stay still, then trail down, smoothly tracing the outline of his length blocked by his jeans. 

Armin is unsure what to do, is unsure of where she wants this to go, “Um...Annie. Do you...?” he waits to let her finish his sentence. 

A messy mop of platinum yellow is all Armin can see, “...your pants are kind of in the way.”

So that _is_ how this is going. The primitive side of himself jumps for joy, ecstatic, while the real Armin struggles to swallow around the solid heartbeat in his throat. Annie sits up on her knees, hovers over him while Armin’s shaking fingers unbuckle his belt, hook beneath the hem of his pants and underwear. As his hand curls over the culprit bringing him to near madness, Armin swears Annie’s eyes glitter when he draws his cock out; she helps him tug his jeans down past his calves too. The anxious man’s heart pounds in his ears and throat. His cock aches as bad as it looks—skin flushed dark red, standing up stiff as a board halfway to his stomach. Volcanic heat floods every inch of his face—he didn’t expect to be leaking so much either and he decides right then to scrub his boxers extra hard tomorrow. He waits to be judged in some way. 

Judgement doesn’t come. Those sky-blue gems housing kindness and ferocity keep staring, keep silent. Behind half-closed lashes, Annie’s pupils are wide, her cheeks pink dusted. Her breathing is shallow, heady, a rhythm which he can’t help noticing affects the rise and fall of her breasts. She doesn’t move, doesn’t speak—it adds to Armin’s discomfort. 

During his wait, Armin’s body demands relief. Unconsciously, Armin’s hand on himself strokes. He softly brushes a finger over the flushed dark pink head, groans from the need for contact. Annie’s hand slides over the hand touching himself so quick, Armin flinches, becomes bug-eyed.

“Armin,” she says in a fashion so low and curious, his mouth gapes a little, “I’ll...I’ll do it.”

_She didn’t_ _just say that._ He warns himself. _She didn’t_ _just say that. She_ didn’t _just say that. Do_ not _lose it._

Except Annie _did_. Small hands direct his grip away, a tender but strong clutch closes around him. Armin groans loudly, thrusts into the tunnel the warmth of her hand creates. Annie’s touch is so inviting and fireplace-warm and she’s touching him _there._ He’s trying so hard to _not_ bite through his bottom lip. 

There are maybe a few risqué novels she read and the description of a dick was “hard as steel, rock, whatever else”. Maybe _inside_ a cock felt that way, a thought which has the shy girl tremor fearfully. In Annie’s grip, Armin is spongy-firm, thumps against her palm like her heart bumps against the back of her throat. He’s comfortably long and far thicker than she expected—even his balls are an enjoyable size. Leave it to Armin to always hide his special traits until the opportune moment.

Annie pauses from an unfiltered thought. She bobs his hard shaft back and forth, curious about this piece of her boyfriend.

“You know…” Annie starts, “This thing is almost like when the troops drove stick-shift on a truck. If I press on your nuts though, do you honk?”

“ _That’s not funny!!”_ Armin blurts out in a panic, so red-faced and steamy, he puts screaming, red-hot kettles to shame.

Annie smiles in such a way, Armin’s heart skips—it’s not so much snide as it is playful, happy, “Maybe not to _you._ You’re pretty fun to play with Armin...and I’m glad you showed me. I do like it. All of it.” 

Leave it to Annie to blend caring and teasing all at once but Armin can’t find it in him to be embarrassed anymore. That playful lilt coupled with her tiny, bright smile makes him want to kiss her again. But her cage of fingers on his anxious cock has Armin zeroed in on her touch, hungry for more. 

Annie’s curiosity can’t be stamped down any longer—she wants to hear if Armin creates inspiring music too much like his words motivate others. She kisses him clumsily, tightens her fingers around Armin’s cock, pumps up and down the shaft. He groans into her mouth and Annie eats up the sound. He’s heavy and thick in her hold, slick and the slit at his tip never stops tearing. She’s not sure what to do so Annie experiments, smooths a finger over the bulbous head, rubs an interesting little notch beneath his cockhead. Judging by Armin’s keening gasp, she must have done something right. Once Tentative strokes become more confident and nearly every pump earns her a soft, vulnerable noise which rises in pitch from Armin.

“Please,” Armin begs. His mouth is so watery and tongue feels so thick, he’s almost drooling. He bucks again, growing restless, “Annie. Go harder, faster, _something_.”

His words spark awake a sharp ache between her legs, that deep, pulsing need where her fingers can’t reach. This isn’t enough for her either and while she isn’t ready to have Armin penetrate her, after seeing him like this, witnessing how much his cock gushes with fluid and thumps hard just by her rubbing sensitive flesh, she wants to _feel_ him. 

Annie gets up by her knees, shucks off her panties quickly, then straddles his hips again. Armin grows wide-eyed, almost frantic. 

“Don’t get too excited,” Annie pants, “I just...I want to try something.”

Armin nods overenthusiastically, his expression akin to an obedient, love-sick puppy. She’s tempted to make fun of him for it, but if she does, it only cements how she’s right—she doesn’t deserve this supremely loving man. She takes his hard pole, a move which pulls a moan out of Armin. A little too intensely, he observes how she guides his engorged cock, presses him to a place which shoots open his eyelids. His shaft is pushed tight against the soaked split between her legs. Annie _moves_ , a nerve-exploding act which makes Armin mewl—he sounds like a falsetto-singing schoolboy too, but he doesn’t care; the heat and grind of Annie is too amazing. She rests her hands on his shoulders to keep her balance, rocks her hips against the rigid flesh rubbing between her lips. 

Armin moans at the sight of her: breasts heavy, lips parted, glossy eyed. He can hardly keep his eyes open while Annie is the opposite—she stares intently at him as she slides back and forth along his length. And like him, _she’s_ pulsing, a contracting massage rippling around him when he drives through her seam. He moans breathily. Every part of Annie is such an experience, he doesn’t exactly know how he can keep his cool.

“ _Annie_ ,” he groans. He takes her waist, fingers kneading the firm muscle of her sides, “ _God_ you’re so warm and gorgeous and— “he bucks in sync with her sliding forward, shivering from her touch, “You’re something else entirely.”

She clutches his shoulders tight, sinks the tips into him further to be quiet— _she’ll_ crumble too quick if he keeps complimenting her. Her mouth opens in a silent gasp as his cock angles further down, sawing between her lips. Every skid of his plump head on her clit summons firecrackers blasting up her core, the explosions turning sharp when the hard bridge of his length smears wetly along her cunt. A few more times of his cockhead sweetly grazing her clit, darting through the drenched seam of her, and the razor-burn of pleasure pools in her gut. Her thighs tremble, her nipples burn—she might as well be seeing stars.

“So _that’s_ what you feel like down there…” she whines. She presses her boyfriend farther back against the bedframe as her head dips down, her eyes clenched, “Armin, you’re so _hard_.”

Armin bites his lip, his head— _both_ of them—are so pressurized from pleasure, they could burst at any moment. His attention stays locked between her legs, where the red-pink head slips between Annie’s lips, coats his shaft with wetness. 

Her quivering breath is music to his ears as is the sloppy noise of their bodies grinding. His cock beats painfully hard, beyond any intensity he’s yet known. Annie supports herself with one hand, allows her hand to fall between her legs. Armin’s throat dries, his eyes growing saucer-wide. Annie’s fingertips dip shallowly into her wetness, stroked slick from their grinding. Each stroke of himself and her fingers working her clit gifts him with her trembling exhales, a sound which calls forth black spirals in his vision and a helium-like delirium in his head. 

He bucks up and he gasps at the same time she does—his cock has divided her deeper and she’s so _hot,_ so drenched and greased with slick. She grinds harder, and he whimpers—she whimpers from the sounds he makes, too. His tip rubs that spot which has Annie’s eyes stretch wide, has her _yelp_. He absorbs that noise, each one—his brain fumbles around with how else he can get such sounds from Annie, this molten fluid which coats him; he’s close to that open spot of _why_ she’s wet, where he’d enter and this damp heat would push open, wrap all around him, and her whines like right now might get louder, call _his_ name. Maybe her mouth would fall open again, maybe she’d gasp and shudder and sink her nails into his skin when he fucks her as senseless as his dreams want. Annie’s relentless in rolling over him and it’s enchanting how her breasts sway, how her watery moans peak with each glide, how wet she is _there._

Armin’s entire body locks up. His hips jerk up hard against her and his legs flinch up behind her. His eyes fly open and he cries out from bursting relief. His cock pulses hard as jets of white spray forward.

Confused, Annie slips a little lower against his shaft, curls her fingers around the top of him. She smooths her finger over the tip. A warm gush bounces against her fingers, drips between them. When the flexing in his neck and clench of eyelids ease, Annie glances down at her hand. Thick white fluid runs down her fingers, drips into her palm.

She blinks, wide-eyed, “Is... that how this usually goes?”

Armin hunches into himself, embarrassed. He wishes he was a hermit crab, nice and safe in his shell and hidden away from Annie’s stupefied expression,” ...not really. We’re supposed to finish together.”

Annie’s middle twists around. She spots white stains at on the far end of the bed; her blush from near-climax grows hotter, “Is that how far it goes too?”

Armin hunches into himself further. Oh, how he _does_ wish he could just hide under a rock somewhere, “It’s never gone that far until just now…”

Annie is wordless at first. She laughs a little but it’s warm, soothing. She twists back around to him and to his relief, there’s warmth there, a tiny crescent smile even, “Well, at least you got some relief. I’ve never…I’ve never really seen you finish before.” 

“But you didn’t—!” Armin scrambles to sit upright, “Annie, I’m sorry...I didn’t mean to do it too soon. I can do something if you want! I understand you’re only comfortable with so much but I don’t want— “

Annie shuts him up by her fingers scrunching his lips closed. Despite the sweaty yellow vines dangling over her eyes and forehead, Annie is calm, composed, like always.

“Armin, you’re fine,” her words are so gentle and smooth, his rattled soul calms, “I promise.”

A high note of uncertainty sings out of him. He manages to mutter through her hold, “I still feel like this is uneven…”

The small woman releases him, draws closer, “What then? Do you want me to clutch your nutsack as payback?”

“...No, thank you. But if there’s _another_ way I can, you know, help you, I don’t— “

Annie pecks the tip of his nose. It’s a move which has Armin shut up, not move, and become cross-eyed all at the same time. Annie keeps giving him gifts—a second-long, giggle leaves her, one which is so small and girlish, all the air in his lungs evaporates after hearing it. 

“You don’t need to do anything, Armin. I’m glad you enjoyed it. I did too. That’s all I wanted—for you to enjoy it.”

Armin’s heart thumps so hard, it could beat out to the end of the room and bounce back into to him. He kicks off the remainder of his pants, scoops her into his arms and falls back on the bed with her. He huddles her so close to his chest and curls over her so tight, one would suspect he’s a cat curling in on himself for warmth.

“You’re far too wonderful for me, Annie,” he sighs next to her ear. 

Immediately, a thumb and forefinger grab his nose. Annie shimmies out of his arm’s lasso-strong hold, reveals her expression—she’s unimpressed and unconvinced, as usual. 

“I should be saying that to you,” his eyelids fall when the back of her hand pets his cheek, “You could have had girls more talkative and normal than me, but you stayed. I’ll never understand you for doing that.”

He has more comebacks to counter her points except he’s just realized this is the first time they’ve cuddled while naked. This is a relationship milestone, yet always, they end up back at this spot, where unworthiness creeps in, where they doubt and the other fights them back. 

“We’re going to keep fighting about this forever, aren’t we?”

Annie cuddles into his chest, humming thoughtfully, “I can deal with that. I can argue just as good as you on why you’re wrong. Question is, can you handle it?”

He smiles wide, chuckles happily. He lets the suffocating grip of his arms around her and the long kiss he presses to her forehead act as his answer. 


	4. Experiment (Experienced)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Armin has always been curious but even Annie was surprised when he asked her to do that to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like we weren’t at least curious to see how this goes. One could say this is a “part 2” of another chapter idea I had but it’s not done yet. Honestly, that may not be done until sometime around xmas haha. 
> 
> For the males who read this chapter and are not into it, sorry man lmao. Maybe next chapter will keep you interested. ;O
> 
> Ch.4: Experienced-Pegging/Cunnilingus

Annie has... _some_ idea of how this works.

Her alert ears gathered some details from Police cadets alongside prostitutes when her group monitored the grimier parts of Stohess. Though, unsurprisingly, Armin fills the gap of what she doesn’t know —he went to the latrine and showered before this. She’s not going to ask _how_ her boyfriend knew what to do—he’s always been too well read or observant for his own good and it _has_ been four years. Who was there to witness what he’s been up to?

As for Annie, she needs to do what he does to her first—prep. There’s lubricant she bought from town and thank god she didn’t encounter Hitch or her nosy friend would never let Annie hear the end of _why_ she needed a large bottle of oil. Thick, streams of scented oil lather Annie’s fingers and she rolls it around and in-between her fingers. Armin is on his back next to her, his forehead crinkled from nerves. His forearms and wrists being bound together is the cherry on top of her evening because Armin’s done it to her— _he_ needs to see how he likes it when at someone else’s mercy...or perhaps, that’s the point of this. In a swift motion, Annie upends the bottle, pours its contents over Armin’s entrance.

Armin flinches, grits out, “ _Cold.”_

A tiny side-smile pulls up, “I’m sure you’ll warm up soon. Relax.” 

It doesn’t take Annie long to figure out what to do—she copies the memory of Armin’s hands sliding through her. She parts his legs wider, traces the outside of the dark-pink whorl of flesh with one well-oiled fingertip. Armin shudders, grunts minorly. She’s a fan of making her silver-tongued strategist squirm so this experiment he asked of her may turn into a fun recurrence, but she needs to tread carefully. Leisurely, Annie slides in one finger. When she’s buried up to the first knuckle, a soft sound of discomfort grunts out of Armin. 

“You alright?” 

He nods, his neck stiff, “Mm. Just...this is new and all…” he’s reddens up to his forehead and the black in his pupils are the size of marbles, “I’ll get used to it.” 

For once, the urge to tease Armin doesn’t bubble up—she remembers when he tried fingering her for the first time: she was hungry but terrified, confused. He needs to be eased into it like she was. 

Carefully, Annie pushes in again, inches forward until there’s no more length to give then withdraws. She moves in and out gently, observes. Armin’s insides have a sweltering grip, possess walls as smooth and sleek as her own body—Annie’s captivated. When she picks up speed, hears him sigh, the probing girl adds another finger. Armin yips, twitches his hips; his scrunched nose appears to be resisting but Annie recognizes that pinched face—he wants more. She plunges in quicker, recalls a trick her boyfriend does on her which she loves; Annie hooks her fingers inside him, draws them forward as she pulls out. Armin yowls, sharp and urgent. The snap and groan from his wrist bindings grow louder with his writhing, sparks alive that sizzling, constrictor-strong twist in the pit of her stomach and groin. Small, thin fingers thrust and with each forward-back plunge, Armin’s stiff cock twitches, bounces between his legs. Pre-come beads at the slit, drips down his reddened shaft to stick to the blond hairs at his base. Watching his distressed erection sway must be as entertaining as him gazing down on her when he screws her until her calves’ cramp. Annie’s aware he needs relief and he _has_ been behaving.

When she bends her neck down, Armin gets an unexpected surprise—instead of her usual teasing and slow sucking, her lips slip over almost half of him, slurping messily until he bumps her tonsils. Then she deep-throats him, her eyebrows twitching as her throat swallows around the thickness of him.

Armin gasps, two veins of strain pulsing in his forehead, “ _Annie!!_ I’m - gah - I’m not going to last long if you do that!” 

Strong peach-red thighs quiver as Annie slips off him with a _pop._ Her free hand grips his thick shaft; hot flesh pulses fiercely against the cage of her fingers—he’s not lying. 

“Just imagine me squeezing the life out of your nuts then,” she says, listless yet smiling, “That should hold your climax back.”

Armin pales and if they weren’t so young, she’d bet his dick would have deflated for the rest of the day from her words. Annie’s smile curls, feeling fiendish. 

“Good,” With her fingers stationary in him, a hard, rhythmic massage clenches around her fingers. It’s familiar. The spot between Annie’s eyes scrunch, “I think you’re ready. Are you?”

Armin gulps before he nods. Annie adjusts the tool which has already been strapped tight to her pelvis—it was _expensive_ —took a little time finding the right one. Annie retreats to the oil again, lathers as much lubricant she can on the smooth length of the polished, wood strap-on extending from her front.

Meanwhile, her boyfriend is a blushing mess below her, sparkling cerulean averted and fingers twiddling. Annie exhales, amused, “You look nervous.”

“I already said this is a first for me…” Armin huffs, gruff and semi-impatient, “And are these binds really necessary?”

“You implying you don’t trust me?”

“No. Just,” he awkwardly clears his throat, “I’ve imagined this a few times just...not so soon.” 

“Didn’t know you thought about men so much.” 

“Who said I had this idea for anyone except you?”

Annie barely manages to maintain her stoic face but the magma-red flaring in her cheeks and ears betrays her composure. She doesn’t want to get trapped in the abyss of no self-worth again. Annie pushes back her low thoughts by locking in on Armin—he wants this and she’ll deliver it, “Hush for once in your life and get on your hands and knees.” 

Despite his hands being tied, Armin manages to flip himself over. He presses his forehead into the rope-binded forearms resting on the bedsheets, spreads his knees wide as his glutes elevate upward. The byproduct of her prepping him is left behind—a glistening slick wends down his tight, drawn-up balls then down his heavy-hanging cock. Annie bites her lip, mentally straining to focus where she needs to be. She kneels behind his legs, grasps his hips and jerks them backwards. She frowns in focus to line herself up—he’s still too high for her, “Lower.”

Armin obediently drops more until his cock almost drags on the sheets and his upper body are in a plank position. He’s finally in alignment and as the glossy wood closes in, the outer ring of muscle twitches, as if it could draw her in on its own. Armin squirms; it’s a jive Annie is an expert in since she dances it often—it’s desperation, need. A sly smile spreads over her lips. Both hands grasp Armin’s hips, and in one full motion, she drives into him completely.

Armin jerks, curses, “ _Fuck._ Do you have to be so rough?”

The remorseless girl thrusts again, drawing a loud groan from Armin, “I thought you liked that I didn’t go easy on you. Why would I do that here? _Besides,_ “Annie plants one of her hands within view of his eyesight, “See that?” her head tossing directs his eyes to fall on her purpled forearms where ropes dug in like they do to him now, “ _That_ is what you made me do to myself yesterday. Imagine the shit I’d get from Hitch if she saw this.”

“ _You_ asked me to do - _ha-_ that. Plus that attitude of yours needed - _agh-_ correcting,” Flaxen bangs have fallen over his eyes until Armin peers over his shoulder, exposes one blown-wide ocean sphere, “Do I have to fuck you like that again since you didn’t learn your lesson?”

Annie’s cunt _throbs,_ scalding and knife-sharp _._ She’d throw him on his back and slam herself on his dick if she wasn’t so invested in this, “That _mouth_ is going to get you in more trouble, Arlert. Or do you just like getting punished?”

“Mm... only when it’s from you, Annie.”

No _wonder_ she gets him riled up when he’s on top—she’d want to fuck herself silly too if she spoke like Armin just did. 

“Armin,” Armin watches from a side-glance as Annie withdraws. Messy platinum yellow hang over her face but her eyes are bright, sparkling even when behind the blond curtain, “Remember, _you_ asked too _.”_

She darts in again and sharp breath tumbles out Armin’s throat. She withdraws, slides in as far as polished hardwood allows and after two, three more thrusts— lunging in and out of him—Annie’s found a rhythm. 

The skin over Armin’s hips is slippery, Annie quickly realizes. She anchors until her fingers reach Armin’s hipbones and maybe _he’ll_ like it when he wakes up the next morning with mottling bruises on his hips—he’s done it to her plenty of times. Armin pants more than he moans now, his hair plastered to his temples and every centimeter of his skin that Annie can see is dark pink under a thin film of sweat: his locked forearms as they brace against the bed, his back as the landscape eases then contracts, his buttocks as they clench and relax around her strap-on. It’s this last part—surveying how Armin struggles to pull as much of what she gives into his body as possible, how he mimics her now and flinches back to meet each of her thrusts—which blasts the desire to fuck his lights out beyond maximum.

Armin makes an incoherent noise of reply, blown into the stars of the perfect pressure she shoves against his hypersensitive prostate. His cock twitches, backside collides hard enough against Annie’s moving hips where she grunts, slaps his shoulder blade. “ _Stop trying to shove me off!”_ is what she accuses him off. Armin doesn’t respond or care—he’s too far gone to think of anything else. Maybe this is what _Annie_ feels like when he fills her—to be bursting, over-encumbered only to be emptied then re-plugged swiftly. Somehow, his cock bouncing against his stomach grows even harder from that thought. 

He’s blowing out deep, harsh breaths with each dive, mouth rounded, “Oh, oh, Annie,” groaned out like she fucks each word out of him—Annie’s addicted to the sound. A petite hand releases Armin’s left hip, runs the digits over Armin’s spine, across his nape. His breathing shudders and skips. The muscles of his back and ass spasm, exposing the lines of his muscle definition and Annie grows a slight envy of Armin’s cock—she wants to feel what he feels when she tries to squeeze Armin dry: of muscles enclosing completely, hot body parts locked in a hard, nerve-shattering war until they’re both completely spent. She reaches around, seizes his shaft to flick her thumb against his leaking cockhead. Armin releases a frantic, choked-off “Ah!”. She wheezes from exertion and so does he, a patchy string of words slipping out of him, “Oh, Annie, _agh_ —”

Curious, Annie runs her finger tips down to his scrotum. The move rips a high grunt from Armin but she’s searching for something else—his sack is tight and swollen, building closer to the urge to spend; she’s had it smacked against her own ass enough times to tell. She smirks with mischief on her mind. 

Armin’s ass is pulled up higher and he first thinks it’s for deeper access—he’s wrong. Annie loops her thumb and forefinger around the stem of his cock, presses her thumb up against the base, hard. Delight widens her smile while Armin chokes out a sob.

“A-Ann _please!”_

“ _You_ were the one who wanted me to be rough,” Annie plunges in hard again to make a point, “This is me listening.”

He should have known better—Annie is bulletproof when it comes to begging, _especially_ when it comes to payback. His balls are straining, full and heavy with the need to come, but he’s cut off. Small fingers squeezing tight around him have severed Armin short of his release. His body trembles and jerks, so close to that tipping point, he could yell from frustration. But Annie doesn’t let up. Armin yowls as her hand tightens its hold, the heartbeat-like throb in his shaft worsening. As he stretches around her strap-on more, feels that perfect pressure inside, Armin can’t manage one coherent thought. His mouth is parted to try to spit something out, but breathy moans and spotty gasps are all that fumble out. He wishes they had done this with a mirror close-by, he’d love to see how Annie looks when on top of him like this.

Suddenly, there’s warm breath against Armin’s nape, licks and sucks which uproot a rumbling noise in the back of his throat. Her clamp which once blocked his orgasm eases, slick fingertips transitioning to rub against the sensitive notch on the underside of his cockhead. 

He jolts, gasps, “Annie I—I can’t— “.

She leans to hover near the shell of Armin’s ear, “I’m _waiting.”_

Armin bucks, shouts out a strained howl as he comes hard over Annie’s hand and his own belly. His body below hers quakes, his moaning almost as endless as his spurting which drips between her fingers, drops onto the bed below him. She’s still deciding if she should clean up the mess or make him do it—she didn’t think he’d bust this intensely. His hips keep flinching until his cock softens in Annie’s grip, the sticky, white eruptions dribbling over her hand dying off.

“ _Armin_ ,” her hand glides up and down the underside of his spent shaft. She clenches him again, drawing out a yelp, “I’d hope after all that, you’d save some energy for me.”

“Uhgghh...” he gurgles, clearly unable to say more. 

Annie smirks. She backs off from playing with her flaccid, favorite toy, pecks the back his ear, his neck, the middle of his spine. The hardness of wood pulls out and Armin falls onto his side, his muscled abs fading from inhales and flexing from deeper exhales. There’s a swirl of haughty delight and disappointment for Annie—she wanted to ride Armin but the outcome of her pegging has left Armin exhausted, his dick hanging limply and his expression sleepy; he might not get it up until after he sleeps. Annie rises by her knees until Armin shifts in his spot on the bed. 

“Hang on…” he wheezes. He turns around on his back, rolls his neck to the side to face her. “I’m not...done yet.”

Annie laughs with an undercurrent of condescension. That pole she’s fond of is pink, unagitated and she’s become a specialist on the pleasure limits of Armin’s body, “Armin, you _are_ done—you came too hard. I don’t think I’ll be able to clean your mess out of the sheets either.” 

“But _you’re_ not done. Untie me?”

Annie smiles a fraction. She’s interested in what he has in mind but she smiles mostly because she can’t say no to him, especially with his forehead and cheeks appearing feverish, his pupils so drunk and wide from orgasm’s high. She releases his wrists from the binds and upon the ropes falling to the bed, he lunges, traps her on the bed by her shoulders. Lines of yellow fly up but Annie doesn’t resist; she remains still, observes with quiet composure as his fingers fall to her hips, unfastening the metal clasps and leather flaps of her strap-on until he yanks it off, exposes the damp heat between her legs **.** She’s dripping wet, flushed and swollen—she smells incredible. He breathes out a shuddery breath, entranced. Two fingers spread soaked, yellow-fuzzed lips, then his middle digit presses in. Annie draws in a sharp breath through her nose. She spreads her legs wider, giving him more access. Encouraged, Armin pushes in again, curls his fingers upward, soliciting a whimper from his bad-attitude girlfriend. He leans down, places a soft kiss on her clit, relishing the twitch of her knees and flex of her calves when he does. He moves up to kiss her on the mouth, shares her taste with her.

“Who knew,” Annie sighs. Her eyelids fall shut when he kisses down her neck, his thumb cautiously circling around her hypersensitive clit sends electric-sparks up her spine, “You’re smart enough to keep finding it.” 

“Do you doubt me that much?” He drops down, kisses the little bud needing attention again. Annie’s hips flinch. 

“ _Never…”_ Annie gasps. 

Oh, how the tables turn—it’s a scenario Armin loves. Long laps of his tongue have Annie’s eyes shut tighter, his tastebuds dragging across outer soft, sweet flesh. His tongue swirls over her clit, reveling in its softness and sensitivity before pressing forward, gently suckling at it. Annie’s fractured hiccup makes Armin’s eyes roll up, examining the after effects of his mouth on her. 

Annie’s a wonderful pink-rose everywhere, her whole-body trembling, hair in a mess, chest heaving and legs splayed open for him; seeing her so vulnerable sparks alive an inferno in his chest. He pushes her legs up and back until her ass is off the bed, her cunt aimed at him. Armin latches his hands against the outsides of her thighs, buries his face between them. The folds of her cunt are slippery-wet, musky sweet on his tongue as he runs firmly down her center, prods the divide with the tip of his tongue. Her flesh gives in on the other side as he pokes, slides his tongue in; those sweet liquids flood over his taste buds. Annie cries out, her back arching before her arms thwap on the bed, her hands fisting the sheets. His chin is already drenched, she’s intensely sensitive and _fuck_ , she’s so _wet_. Is this what happens to her whenever they’re messing around in bed?

The thought shoots down to his cock and Armin plans that maybe after an hour or two break, he’ll throw Annie’s legs back and fuck her so hard and raw, she’ll walk wrong for a week. Until then he slips his tongue up and down, massages slowly to build up her pleasure. 

“Mmnh,” Annie mewls. That slippery squirming thing which is Armin’s experienced tongue slithers in and out again, curls and scrapes along convulsing walls. She can’t mutter anything other than _nnhs_ and _ahs_ before and after sighing his name _._ The world is too riddled with black spots, each pore oozing heat and sweat from burning, blinding pleasure. Her thighs quiver next to his slick-smeared cheekbones, and each damp, wriggling plunge in her has Annie push against Armin’s mouth, yelp pathetically. 

His cock throbs pleasurably, excited Annie’s so responsive but his gut twists unpleasantly—he needs air. With one hand supporting her hip and ass, he backs up a margin, sucks in a breath before pressing his face into her again. Wetness smears his cheekbones as he licks the borders of her opening clean. Annie’s hips jerk, a little yelp leaving her and as if it’s his prize, a gush of arousal flows out. He’s quick to claim it, slurp it up hungrily, and he loves it when she whines while doing so—her nose and forehead crinkle, her eyebrows uprise just so, all of which is coupled with her stark-red cheeks. He plays around the little nub with the tip of his tongue, barely touching the edges of it. Annie grips his hair immediately, presses him into her soaked cunt. How hard she humps him might leave his chin and nose sore tomorrow but she tastes so good, he pays the threat no mind—he just wants more. 

Armin curls his tongue inside her and his applause is Annie’s weak cry, more rushes of wetness. The busy man’s body heat rises, gets him to where he needs to be for later as he reaches for that spot inside her, gratified when he hears her voice reach an octave higher. He focuses his attention there, pushing his tongue in steady strokes until she’s shaking, her cries getting louder and louder. He sets her back down, lets one hand drift from the curve of her hip over to her swollen clit, and brushes feather-light circles around, ensures it’s not hard enough to where he knows she’ll come. Wet walls keep spasming around his tongue and he keeps pushing her limits, keeps his tongue twisting and coiling inside her even as she’s trembling and sobbing in gasps above him. Then suddenly she’s seizing up, throwing her head back as her whole body shudders. 

“Arm - Armin - I - ohmygod Armin,” Annie is whimpering, her fingers gripping tight where they tangle in his hair. “I’m gonna -.”

Armin groans his approval, keeps licking into her while stroking her flushed clit. Annie’s moan morphs into a strangled shout as he sucks and Annie’s ecstasy throes grow from loud to eardrum-shaking. He replaces his finger with his mouth, closes it over her clit and sucks hard. She lets loose a shriek so loud, it’s a _miracle_ that there is no one around as the police would be called on them. Iron-strengthened legs tremble and her hands fist his hair as an outpour of liquid runs over his lips. Annie sags backward limply, panting while his mouth laps up every bit of her orgasm, swallowing it up brazenly. When he’s satisfied with how he’s cleaned her, Armin sits back on his legs, staring down at her. Her face is beet-red, her breasts heaving and the divide between them and just about all of her shines like wax has been taken to her. 

Her attentive boyfriend descends, skims his lips over hers, as if painting her arousal on her before he kisses her open-mouthed, lets her taste herself. 

Staring straight into clouded sky-blue, Armin says, low and controlled, “I told you that you weren’t done.” 

Annie bites the corner of her bottom lip, shy and devious all at once. His brain takes a mental snapshot of this second to give him a warm reminder of what his work does to her. His girlfriend lifts herself by her forearms, hovers so close, her warm breath washes over his face. 

“I’m still not done yet,” Annie’s tone is so husky and sly, Armin quivers, gets that tell-tale squeeze in his testicles—he senses a challenge. Seductive, crystal spheres dart down to his groin then back to him, “ _That_ better be ready in the next hour. Or _else.”_

Armin’s smile elevates. He kisses her cheek, runs a hand up her thigh. Annie shudders again and this time, his smile turns into a prideful lip curl, “How about you lay down again and make those nice noises for me? If you do, I’ll probably be ready sooner than you think.” 

  
  



	5. Something New (Inexperienced)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary: The same old routine can get boring and Annie has been itching for something new...but Armin's idea makes her body feel so weird. (Fingering)
> 
> I imagine these two have a very awkward time figuring out each other in the beginning stages that seccs doesn't come for some months after they start fooling around lol
> 
> Also, this artist basically captured how I imagined Armin + Annie's physique. It's so good T_T. Slim yet toned. Based.
> 
> [Armin's physique](https://twitter.com/ArtofNeight/status/1342326111099744257?s=20)  
> [Annie's physique](https://twitter.com/ArtofNeight/status/1342072383063003137?s=20)

Daytime is reserved for when Annie collects new interests.

She advances her skills in hobbies which didn’t have a chance to be fleshed out and soaks in being outside for as long as she can—she’ll even stay out after dark to witness the beauty of the moon and stars. She includes Armin most of the time but Annie prefers the time spent with him when the sun hides beneath the horizon.

Being this way with Armin—whether it’s on the bed or the sofa—is relaxing; they’re entangled in each other’s arms with their lips sealed tight on the other. His hot breath tickles her face and like the knobs turning on the stove, her body builds so high in heat, Annie’s clothes become unbearable to wear. But his tactics are becoming predictable, too common to keep Annie’s interest. There’s also the issue of how much she’s sweating in her damn short-sleeve shirt and cargo pants. That need for more clangs louder between her temples, climbs in intensity with every second Armin is pressed against her; Annie acts before she can think. 

She backs up on the bed and sits on her knees. Annie grabs the hem of her shirt, and swiftly, uncertainty swirls in her head like a dizzy sea-sickness, builds in strength when air tickles her lower belly; she’s searching for the fortitude to take off her shirt. And _he_ is staring at her with those intense river-blue eyes. Annie wrenches her eyes shut, carries on with it. 

Armin’s lips separate. Annie’s abdomen lengthens as her back arches. Muscle definition carves an upside-down triangle from the sides of her belly-button down until the peak hits _that_ place below her waistband, a place Armin can’t see…but he’s thought about a lot; her abs flatten and flex, the move deepening the grooves of her ribs when she exhales, her shirt getting past her shoulders. The hypnotized boy has to pull his legs up a bit, isolates what he sees to her neck and bra alone; if he adds the mental image of her hour-glass figure on top of how toned the rest of her body is, he might jizz without any of Annie’s help. 

Eventually, Annie tugs her shirt over her head. She can’t replicate a dramatic toss of her clothes like she’s read in erotica from Hitch’s “personal” library; her shirt falls lamely onto the bedsheets instead. Her shoulders shake and her hands follow along as they fasten to her biceps, rubbing up and down them. Annie isn’t cold —if anything, the room is too warm and keeping her bra on is a source of comfort. Her forearms cover herself—she doesn’t want him to realize how her breasts aren’t as large as other women's. 

Armin spots her face—he knows that face: Annie’s uncertain, shy and probably noticed how he’s locked on her physique...and her bra. Armin’s bangs fly up from his swift head-duck. His hands rub over the other, feeling like some kid who’s been yelled at for accidently walking in on someone undressing. 

Those planets of brisk blue which change in intensity like the seasons seem scared and Armin wants to assure Annie that she doesn’t need to fear him—he can’t even stand the idea. He sucks in a deep breath. 

“You look beautiful, Annie. Even when you don’t try, you outclass me. Sorry if um,” Armin’s fingertips tremor when yanking out his shirttail from his pants, “Sorry in advance if I don’t meet your expectations. I’ve always been the smallest of the group…”

Annie arches a brow—she doesn’t understand. Her confusion persists upon his blue shirt being unbuttoned and shrugged off his shoulders. Armin’s expression takes on Annie’s past feelings of being a red, embarrassed mess, unable to meet her in the eye or keep a straight posture. And Annie is...well...

“Armin, what the _fuck?”_ she blurts out. 

The nervous boy sighs, hunches self-consciously. Annie can't tear away from how the ends of his lean, nicely risen pectorals flex from the position change or how his slim abs become more pronounced. Her mouth has turned to sandpaper.

“I know... it’s not much. I’m not as bulky as the other guys.”

Annie’s eyebrows spring up, “Not much _?_ You have a six pack. You have a _chest.”_ Not really a feature she was expecting if she’s being honest, “Those shirts you wear don’t do your body a justice. And who said I liked bulky?”

“But I’m not like the others. My body isn’t strong like Mikasa’s, tall like Eren’s, or even as big as Reiner or even Connie. They’re in better shape—in general, they’re just better. I’m...not.”

An irritated exhale whistles out of Annie and the urge to apologize bubbles up inside Armin—it’s a painful truth he can’t help but voice to her. The bedsheets rustle from Annie drawing closer. That flare-up of wanting to hide returns but the want to be near Annie overwhelms it—Armin trembles instead. Wonderfully soft hands hold his shoulders, “If I liked their bodies, then why am I with you rather than them, Armin?”

The low burning flame of self-consciousness dies down a degree more—Armin finds the courage to lift his head. Annie doesn’t smile but round pale-blue lakes stare at him with a mix of affection and judgement—he’s the most lovable, brain-dead idiot she’s ever met, is what he’s reading from Annie. He flushes, “You make a good point…”

“Then let’s forget about it?” she should probably listen to her own advice but Annie doesn’t care much for herself, especially right now.

Armin nods. He clenches his eyelids, pushes that insecurity down. Second-guessing would affect his...performance, as Reiner and Jean once snickered. But Armin doesn’t ask them for advice anymore—they don’t know much about women anyway. 

He needs to ignore that chatter in his head. The center of Armin’s brows wrinkle from concentration— _ignore it and just go_. He buries his worries deeper, centralizes his thinking on how Annie’s hair and body smells like soil, sweat, citrus, and honey - all organic and raw much like she is. Armin digs until there’s a mental _click_. 

Armin scoots up to Annie. He gently cups her jaw, slides his mouth over hers. Hands more suited for piano or literature take her waist, and to Annie’s pleasure, his grip is _strong._ Their chests press together and his hands on her waist glide up, bump over the smooth cloth of her bra. Annie’s breath hitches. Armin’s warm hand rests over the bra clip. She _does_ want to show him and she knows Armin will love her regardless and worrying to this extent is beyond stupid...but it’s a nonsensical fear she can’t shake. They part so wetly, Annie licks her lower lip to break the saliva string. She places her forehead on his; his blown-wide pupils are homed in on her and she tells him—she shakes her head; maybe on another night, she’ll be ready. His hot forehead rubs against hers—he’s nodding. His button nose bumps against hers, leading her into another kiss. Before Annie knows it, she’s fallen against satin sheets and Armin takes a spot above her. 

The familiar texture and taste of Armin’s tongue slips into her mouth. He shifts around her, sliding his lean forearm under Annie’s neck while the other arm settles by her side. With that, more of his weight rests against Annie, their lips locked and tongues sliding. Annie melts under the added pressure, savoring this odd comfort. He’s like a weighted blanket - a warm cure for anxiety and a hideaway from the cold. When Armin releases Annie’s mouth for air, her lips feel heavy and swollen. Then a head of wheat-yellow moves down, trailing heated kisses down Annie’s neck, her chest. He braces his weight against a forearm by Annie’s head while his free hand rides along her solid flank to her chest. Experimentally, Armin gropes her breast through Annie’s bra. Annie tenses but a tiny sound tumbles out of her. That vein-liquifying fire is back, that anxious urge in Annie’s gut to go from kissing to something more… carnal. It’s _weird_ and she doesn’t get it yet. 

The internal flames sharpen when Armin reaches her underwear. The tips of his fingers runs along the dampness there, another reaction which happens when Armin touches her—surprise, surprise, she doesn’t understand why. A feeble noise breaks free from her but it’s gulped down by her partner’s harder kiss. Armin’s thumbs hook under the elastic and he tugs until Annie’s bra is the one piece of clothing she has left. One hand covers Annie’s eyes. 

A burst of electricity shocks Armin below his waistline. Beneath a trail of yellow fuzz are soft pink lips, wet and shiny from exposure. Armin doesn’t know if he’s perverted or has a childlike imagination but the divide of her reminds Armin of a peach—a swollen peach with a wet split down it’s middle and he _really_ wonders what it tastes like…

He gulps, shakes his head. The throbbing in his crotch is like a powerful, annoying bell ringing off with each pulse. All Armin can think of is Annie’s privates, how this new smell has him want to bundle himself in all of her, consume all his senses. But mostly, he wants to pull out that sound she made when he fondled her chest. 

“Armin?” Annie asks, nervous with an arm across her chest. He’s been silent for some time. Right as her head lifts, Armin’s lips ram on hers. His hands are on her sides, tracing over the fabric of her bra. Her breathing stutters harder when his finger brushes against the soaked slot between her legs. His finger skids along dripping, sensitive pinkness then traces her entrance; her thighs shudder, jerk when he pushes in his middle finger. Annie whimpers and her hand on the back of his neck clenches harder. There’s an uncomfortable stretch and having Armin inside up to his knuckle _stings._ Then Armin pumps and Annie rips her mouth to the side, hissing—his fingernail scratched her. 

“Armin…” she gasps, “This— “

Armin’s lips fall on hers again. Her strained breathing runs down his throat. He needs more of her sounds, that wetness which coats all his fingers. His mind sinks deeper into mind-muddying black, pumps faster. 

Armin’s angle seems to shift and there’s another unpleasant skid of his nail’s edge inside her. Annie grunts. The sting of being stretched joined with the ache from where his nail grazed leaves Annie squirming. The feeling is unpleasant, his finger is too quick and erratic, his nail is _jagged_ and Armin’s mouth has crept down to her chest, the side of his lips almost lifting up her bra cup. Annie locks up. 

Her fingers drill into Armin’s neck so hard, he yelps and pulls back. Annie shoves him back by his shoulders, “Armin, _enough!”_

Armin breathes heavily, blinking like he’s been doused with cold water. The mental black he was swamped in clears and sitting before him is Annie who lays on the bed afraid and confused—it’s because of _him_. A boulder may as well have slammed onto his chest, robbing him of the ability to speak or breathe. It’s the sting from where her nails dug in which help Armin stop floundering for words.

“Annie…” he pants, “Annie, I’m sorry. I-I didn’t mean—”

“I think that’s all for tonight,” Annie whispers, her legs drawing up tight to her chest. A sudden case of extreme nausea crashes over Armin as Annie quickly flees, tucks herself into the thick sheets of their bed. Her back faces Armin, “…night.”

Armin’s head falls into his hands—she doesn’t even say his name like she usually does. He exhales, disappointed in himself,

“Right…”

* * *

The next few days are agonizing. 

Daily activities and normal conversations resume but during the night…they don’t speak or touch. It’s as if there is a wall between them and neither have the guts to break it down. The tension increases with every passing day. Armin thought saying sorry again would help and he tried a couple times, but Annie’s reaction is reluctance and refusal to talk about it. Eventually, Armin stops mentioning his mistake entirely and leaves her alone.

The third day, Armin tells Annie again that he loves her, and instantly, his brain brews a potent fear—what if Annie thinks he’s saying that for the purpose of getting in her literal pants again rather than because he cares? She’ll think he’s trying to put her in a false sense of security instead of soothe her? He can’t let _that_ stop him from saying words which are so important to him…but he worries. Once Armin is alone, he frantically runs his hands through his hair out of frustration until it’s much like his brain—a swirled, frizzy mess. The tightness in his chest continues to get worse.

Later that week, Armin sits on the sofa in the living room. He appears to be reading but he never travels beyond the paragraph he started at two hours ago.

He can’t go on any longer like this. He doesn’t want to be back at square one because he was weak enough to get lost in a moment of steel-strong lust. He has to figure out _some way_ to talk to Annie.

In that same moment, a hand slips onto Armin’s shoulder. He practically leaps in his spot. He turns. 

Annie is there in a tank top and carpenter pants, “You’re beating yourself up, aren’t you?”

Armin stares. A dispirited sigh escapes quickly after. He doesn’t think he needs to respond—the levelness of Annie’s voice suggests she knows she’s right. He lowers his head until most of what Annie can see is his undercut. 

“Why?”

“You’ve been through so much already,” he gets to the point quickly, “And I feel like I added another bad memory on you —I hurt you again,” his teeth close against his thumb and he bites down, hard, “I’ve done enough of that already.”

“As usual, you’re judging yourself too harshly. All I needed was time. This is new for both of us…”

Armin’s attention on his hand diverts to scratching the back of his head, “Yea...doesn’t mean I feel any less bad. I still messed up. I should have checked with you first.”

Annie crosses her arms. A quick exhale passes through her nose, “And here I was thinking that it was _me_ who ruined everything.”

Armin’s front whips around, bewilderment creasing his features, “What? How could you think that?”

“It was a shock to me. I didn’t really know what I was feeling or how to react. I was fine with letting you see my crotch but was nervous about showing my chest, which sounds stupid and backwards. And I,” she winces at the spot on the back of his neck, “I hurt you too.”

Armin’s fingers rise to rub against the tiny scabs Annie left behind. He didn’t even think about that until now, “Oh, that. You shouldn’t worry about that. You don’t hold back with me and this is like a reminder of that—it’s what I love about you. Or maybe that sounds weird…does that make sense?”

That tiny, delicate side-smile he hasn’t seen in days returns, “It makes sense...but the one thing I’m sure about from all this is I _don’t_ like jagged fingernails when you do...that.”

Armin showcases his hands—there are no edges on any of his fingernails and they’re rounded down to the nub, “Yeah, I figured that out a little too late.”

Annie’s expression softens with her smile—leave it to Armin to think of every fault or where things may have gone wrong, “Now you know. I like that you keep me on my toes, Armin. You aren’t boring or a chore to deal with or be around. It can be annoying, but you help me not be afraid to try something new.”

Armin’s teeth toy with his bottom lip, “But this time, I tried to do something I thought you’d like...and it failed.”

“...yeah, it did,” There is no sound but the creaking of wood within the house, “Do you want to try again?”

Armin jumps like he’s sat on a tack, “W-What?”

Annie tucks hair behind her ear. She’s focusing on the wall to avoid his stunned, slack-jawed face, “It was weird but it _was_ something new. I’ve been wanting that lately and I think this is just new to both of us…,” she’s paused again, and this time, rose-red has bloomed from her ears down to her neck collar, “Do you think we need to practice more?”

Practice—it’s a word which inspires a blood-red rush to Armin’s cheeks and a sharp-flare of happiness to pierce his chest. He’d like to yell “ _Yes!!_ ” if it didn’t make him look like an even bigger over-eager idiot. 

“I’d say you’re right again, Annie.”

Annie gives Armin’s earlobe a playful yank, “Armin, you’re guaranteed to get in my pants again so stop laying the flattery on so thick.” 

Armin laughs shyly, “I’m saying what’s true though.”

Annie rolls her eyes but Armin laughs through it jovially. Annie’s torso declines and Armin’s arms rise. They hold each other and the uncertainty infecting both of them washes away. Annie’s whispering coaxes a smile from Armin: 

“Don’t even think about apologizing again.”

* * *

They’re back again—same time, same place. Armin is above her—Annie likes the warmth and security having him over her brings. His shirt is off but his pants are on while Annie is in nothing but her bra again. Armin pecks down her neck then under her clavicle. His cheek rests against the soft incline of her breast. He doesn’t move. 

Beneath this softness lives this knocking against the side of his face. It’s too similar to frantic banging against a door—a quick, repetitive rapping from someone so eager to enter and be safe. If this is true and the source is scared, Armin wants to say he’s sorry—he didn’t mean to scare them last time. All he has is to hope excitement overrides Annie’s fear. Armin kisses the spot shielding her heart. 

Armin’s hands fall down, his fingertips grazing along her belly until he reaches a triangle of short, springy curls. Armin’s digit skips against a bump and he recalls a sudden thought. He stops.

“What are you-” Annie gasps sharply. Armin’s thumb lightly rubs and rotates against the bud at the top of her sex. Annie’s legs jerk and her neck arches back. 

“Wha-!” Annie grits her teeth but a short, stifled whimper bleeds through. Armin trousers are suddenly painfully confining and all the breath has been punched out of him at the sight of her pale throat but Armin pouts, discontent—he doesn’t like being robbed of her noises. Armin dips his head to mouth at her throat, suckling bruises into existence all down that expanse of skin

“What are you, some kind of expert now _?”_

“No,” he kisses under her ear, “But I don’t want to make the same mistakes again and I read somewhere that spot helps make it...better.” 

Annie scoffs, “Why can’t you just get on with it? After almost four days of no action, I thought you’d be a riled-up mess.”

Armin rises. He parks his lips on hers but not before speaking, “Because getting on your nerves is pretty fun.”

A pleasure zap shoots down Annie’s spine. He kisses her and she gets him to pair up to the wave-like rhythm her jaw sets while he prods that wet, frighteningly small opening. Carefully, Armin slips a finger into her slot. Annie shudders, inhales faster with her eyes hooded.

Armin’s throat is dry as he glances down. A string of fluid connects his finger then he dips in again—each time he comes away _soaked._ Annie can hear him breathe a little more quickly.

“You’re really hot,” Armin’s words are breathy, full of wonder, “And tight.”

Annie’s cheeks blaze. She’s never been told those words before—it brings back the chill of shriveling vulnerability and the warmth of being okay with said vulnerability. It’s Armin—he’s conniving and calculating when he needs to be and she wouldn’t be surprised if there’s a rougher side to him—but he’s always careful to not hurt her, careful to not overstep; she’s safe with him. 

His finger slides out then pushes in a few more times. Suddenly, a second finger slides in. Annie‘s jaw steels as she groans. Armin works both into her gently and slowly. His fingers aren’t very wide but having two in her is more challenging to take than one. Annie’s teeth bite down on her bottom lip—it aches and burns as he expands her hole but she accepts it.

“Are you okay?”

Annie nods quickly. His fingers are idle inside her, as if waiting if she was going to take back her approval. She doesn’t. His fingers ease out, slip back in until Armin repeats this back-and-forth rhythm several times.

Annie sighs—the ache is falling away and replacing the stretch is a sensation of being full. The sting returns here and there but watching how it’s Armin filling her has a pleasurable flood mask the pain. Her walls quiver and the tingling turns into heaven. Then the tips of his fingers shift—he crooks them, pets the top of the wet space he’s breached. He presses forward, and—

A clipped shriek-gasp breaks free from Annie. She immediately clamps her hands over her mouth. 

Armin stares with platter-sized eyes and Annie feels how her eyes have probably expanded to the same width as his. 

“.... Annie, what was that?”

“...nothing _.”_

_“_ I heard _something_.”

“You caught me off guard! That’s all...”

“Ah,” A pause, “Can I catch you off guard again?”

Annie was already breathing fast but now she’s gulping air. How erratically her heart pounds rattles her whole body and for some reason, now she doesn’t feel full or stimulated enough—it’s turning her irritable, “What do you think? It’s not like I’ve taken your fingers out of me.”

Redness somehow worsens on Armin’s cheeks but all he needed was the green light. 

Armin’s fingers slide out a little bit. Once they’re completely reburied, he crooks the tips again, pushes harder than before. A kind of whine-squeal slips past her clenched teeth— _how_ she keeps making that noise, Annie doesn’t know; she’s never made those sounds before. She bites the side of her hand to mask her noises. Armin dives in again, slips his fingers deep and skimming anxious, wet walls. Every stroke and push Armin imposes inside her has Annie’s calves twitch and breath catch. And damn him, he _finds it_ again, that spot within which makes Annie jerk and gasp. 

He’s an annoyingly fast learner.

“If you stop, I _swear_ I’ll—” Annie moans before her face contorts – at another angle, two perfectly sized digits split her. Resting her free hand over her eyes, Annie’s hips work to meet the steady pumping of his hand. Her subtle whimpering rises when he starts curling and scissoring his fingers in and out of her slick cunt.

“You’ll what?” Armin sounds _arrogant_.

“I’ll slap the smug out of you,” she growls. Her harsh attitude melts away into another weak, high groan, “Just keep going...I-I…” Annie can’t finish. The twisting of her gut has been pulled too tautly, her nerves now fever pitch and ready to combust. 

Pride claws in Armin’s chest, pleased that what he does turns Annie speechless. He continues to push where he bottomed out before. _Something_ is happening and Annie can’t seem to catch her breath, can’t stop this overflow of pressure and pleasure rising in her gut, limbs, and head. It starts with hard, sharp breaths then Armin strokes _that_ spot again, rubs that nub with his thumb. A high-noted gasp-whine breaks free as she peaks. She arches her back and there’s white-explosions behind her clenched eyelids and a spilling between her thighs. When she comes down, Annie’s lower back plops back onto the bed. The world spins while she walks on air. Annie’s headache is gone and she feels so tired, she could sleep for an entire day. 

Armin’s fingers slide out. He rubs the slick fluid between his fingers, entranced—it almost feels like a medal. Maybe he finally has an award he can be proud of.

“I take it that was better?”

With her eyes stuck to the ceiling, Annie slaps his bicep, “Dumb question.”

Armin chuckles, “I’m glad...and relieved.”

Annie exhales so hard, her messy bangs lift up from the force of it, “Me too.”

Armin tries to put his knee forward and it catches Annie’s attention—like him, she’s cursed with a gift of perception. Immediately, the landscape between her collarbones to her forehead dye red, “Armin…do you need help with that?”

Armin sputters. He grabs a pillow and shoves it against the tent pitched around his crotch. He rapidly shakes his head, “N-No! I-I’m fine!”

“Armin, it’s not fair to leave you with blue-balls all _night._ Or after four years, are you used to that? _”_

“Not very kind of you to pour salt on _that_ wound...” he mumbles.

Annie’s eyelids lower - he does have a bit of a point. Annie picks herself up, apologizes with a peck to his cheek. She rubs her nose and philtrum into his neck, cuddling closely, “It was nice, Armin. I really did like it.”

Armin swishes around a thought in his head - with Annie’s face and noises stored in his head for safekeeping, he can’t shut himself up. 

“I could tell.”

Annie punches him in the arm, “And here I am trying to make _you_ feel better. I’d make you finger me again if I wasn’t tired.”

Armin laughs and rubs his bicep which _does_ hurt. It’s the first dose of potent joy he’s had in quite some time. The pleased ex-soldier pecks her forehead, rubs his cheek on the top of her head before stopping.

“You liked it. That’s all I really care about, Annie. I can wait. Now, go to sleep.”

A hum of acknowledgement sings out of Annie as she bundles herself deeper into the sheets.

It’s going to be a _painful_ night. But he gave her his word—he’ll stand by those words and he’ll wait until Annie falls asleep then slink away into the bathroom to take care of himself or else, he’s going to be wide awake for half the night. 

But Annie’s trust in him and her undisturbed resting face is his gift for tonight. Armin hasn’t seen Annie so at peace in... he can’t really say when. His forefinger trails down a bang which has fallen down the front of her face. 

He waits and listens until Annie is fast asleep.

  
  



	6. First Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Annie's not so sure if it's fear or excitement which shakes her hands; this is their first time, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took this from the approach that Annie and Armin would reach sex once they painfully go through the bases. You can consider the “inexperienced” chapters a build up to this First Time chapter.

The kiss is identical to their first—soft but shaky. 

Armin cradles her face—his thumb under her jaw and index finger under her ear. He takes his time, rolls his jaw with deep, slow kisses while she holds Armin by his wrists, letting her mouth follow his sluggish lead. Their lips detach. When his chin lowers, Armin’s upper lip stays partly trapped between hers, like he doesn’t want to completely pull away. 

“I won’t go farther than this,” Armin’s lips move, “Not unless you tell me to.”

Annie’s not sure _why_ she‘s so nervous. Yet here they are, standing in the middle of their bedroom as aimless and confused as they were when they first kissed. She’s told Armin she’s ready; they’ve sucked, groped, and ground against each other enough times where his fingers can’t repel the flaring pressure between her thighs anymore. Her chest and pelvis are stamped against her boyfriend and Annie can tell Armin is equally eager—the culprit poking her side usually gets her mouth or her hands but now she’s willing to try more. But again, that brain-pinching fear returns, nerves which press her legs together in need for him and simultaneously fears an intruder. 

“It’s not like this wasn’t always the next step,” Annie swallows, controlled enough so she doesn’t seem so embarrassingly nervous, “...and you’re the only one I’d do this with. I don’t want you to hold back with me—I trust you.”

His focus on her is so _intense,_ Annie dips her chin to her chest; the olive-sized dilation in his eyes sharpens that torch-hot pulse between her legs. His thumb strokes her cheek, “If that’s what you want.”

They kiss again and Annie’s body melts back into sunny-day warmth. Their kissing gets stronger and Armin’s hands slide down to hold her arms. Annie gathers a thought when Armin’s mouth opens a fraction. She glides her tongue along his lower lip and the strength in his reactive grab on her biceps leaves Annie shivering. They back-up until her back is pressed against the wall, and meanwhile, their kisses seem to have no end; it’s deep and so hungry, the heat of their bodies turns up a few notches. Desire orders her fingernails to dig into him, marking him; no one can touch Armin except her. The searing slide of his tongue darts against hers as her hand spreads on his hip, smooths down. She cups the noticeable bulge in the front of his pants.

Armin groans as her fingers dig into his crotch. His overactive cock has been _dying_ for this; caught up in his greed, he presses her hand harder on his groin in desperation for more. 

Annie trails her fingers over the shape of Armin’s erection. _This_ pole of his can make Annie gag or have her think the blood pounding through the flesh thumps to the beat of a drum. It’s an odd fear—to be scared of him being inside her and to be so desperate to know how Armin undoes her when he‘s finally in. When she twists her head to the side for air, he pants into her hair then claims her neck. His gentle nips send a static shock along her skin, tingling the warm, wet places of her body. She’s breathless, squirming against him as his mouth latches to her neck—his hickies will last for half a week, _again_. Her laugh peters out into a throaty little gasp as she shivers, melts as his hands run down the hem of her pants and squeeze her ass; two can play at that game. Annie unbuttons and unzips Armin, flies down to grab his prick. She strokes but so agonizingly slow, he groans. He presses his hand over hers, bucks into her grip. 

Annie‘s chuckle is mocking—Armin always turns into a yowling pup when she strokes his balls and groin. His hands flatten on her waist, pushing her back against the wall as his knee pushes between her legs. When she pulls him by his hair back to her mouth, his mouth glues onto her again, just as hard as her, just as hungrily. She can’t breathe. Everything around Annie buzzes and everything inside her liquifies—her skin, her lips, her pulse. Armin’s taste and smell clings to her as he keeps her against the wall.

They part with a wet smack then Annie pushes against Armin’s shoulders. His mind is too groggy to comprehend where he’s going—his sole desire is for Annie to keep her hands on him. The front of the bed whacks against the back of his legs and he yelps, falls on his bottom to the bed. As he sits, instinct barks at him and in sync with each other, Armin and Annie shuck off their pants. Then Annie plants her knees by each of his hips. She sits back slightly, pressing herself unintentionally harder against his crotch while she peels his shirt off. Her fingers tremble as much as his which lay on her waist though whether it’s excitement that they’ve finally reached this stage or if it’s fear...Armin scares away the thought. When they’re both finally naked, he strokes from her bare thighs up to her lower back. She kisses him again and his neck bends back from the force but neither Armin or Annie close their eyes. He’s trapped in the fiery fathoms of Annie’s electric-blue irises, spots how there’s a blue-white aura around her in the moonlight. He’s been mistaken for so many years—he thought she was trapped in ice and thawed when really, Annie was always a low burning flame who only recently got the chance to ignite to her fullest potential. God how she _excites him._

Armin clutches Annie’s waist and hijacks her spot; he twists and plants her back on the bed. She relents to the switch and his deeper kiss without a fuss. Sharp open-mouthed kisses turn into sucking latches, nipping which pull soft moans from Annie. Those noises do nothing more than compel him on and he soon reaches Annie’s exposed breasts. With a heaving chest and half-curtained eyelids, Annie looks down. She watches Armin’s tongue slither out, encircle and flick a perk, pink nipple before teeth clench around it. His tongue draws shapes, wets her skin in unhurried patterns. Then he _sucks_. Annie bites her forefinger, trying to stifle her choppy, pleased noises. Annie’s breathing hitches, the wet kiss he plants on her strong inner thigh making the muscle-quiver between her legs worse. He witnesses her thighs shivering from his kiss, how Annie’s eyes shutter close from where he is. But Armin is laughing, heavy breaths striking her cunt—he likes eating her out and she’s become a fan of when he does it too. But not _tonight._

“ _Armin”_

“Mm?” he pecks her thigh again, _so close_ to where she needs him. 

“Just get _on_ with it.”

His thumb traces a circle on her thigh this time, “Not yet. You’re not prepared enough and I don’t want it to hurt you.”

Silence washes over her, “Where did you learn _that_ detail?”

Armin’s mouth twitches awkwardly to the side, _“_ A little birdy told me.”

“Tell your friends to stay out of our sex life.”

“Actually, it was Pixis when he was drunk a couple years back. And _don’t_ ask me why he brought it up. I try hard to forget it…” 

She slaps the top of his shoulder, “That’s a turn off and a _big one_.”

The soft pad of Armin’s thumb rubs her clit. A choked gasp rips from Annie, “Does that help bring you back?”

With her cheeks and neck fuming crimson, Annie snarls, “I’m going to strangle you with one knee after you fuck me.”

One of his fingers pushing into Annie halts any more snark she has left, replaces it with a sudden intake of breath. Her legs part wider for him.

Armin smiles up at her, “That’s a risk worth taking then.” 

His finger pistons into her anxious entrance again and the tingling numbness returns. His fingers have studied her like she has on Armin. A long finger slips and slides in and out with rhythmic ease, letting the moans she releases be intruded with more heavy breathing before he adds another finger, stretches her more. It’s like the soothe of salve to sunburns when she’s been out training for too long. But it’s only _build up._ And the ache has a sharp and hot impatience, boils to the point where Annie whines, huffs out pants and tiny noises of need. Armin fingers her faster, spreads his fingers inside her and rakes them against her cunt’s ceiling. 

“Stop,” she rasps though it comes across as more of a beg, “That’s enough. Now… _ngh,”_ his fingers aren’t enough. There’s this primal whisper insisting he isn’t taking up enough space, a visceral need to be touched deep inside her—she isn’t full _enough._ When Armin travels up to her, her legs clamp his sides and she twirls around until she’s on top. Armin stares up at her, puzzled. 

He’s gone out of his way to go slow with her—he’s made her feel good and absorbed her more horrific outbursts from night terrors. If there’s any way she can show she loves him without using stupid words…

“Annie?” 

Annie murmurs are inaudible. He fidgets beneath her to rise, “If it’s too much, Annie, we can stop.”

He starts his ascent then a shove of her hands against his chest slams Armin back to the bed. Her face is centimeters from his, “I said don’t move.”

Armin gulps hard. Annie diverts to nibbling on his ear, sliding her soft hands down his chest. It pulls a shiver out of him, has his excitement pulse harder. It’s here where Armin has come to terms that he can’t deny Annie of anything. _“Anything for you”_ is what his mind says since his lips can’t move; Annie’s claimed them again.

His toes sink into the bedsheets. Annie’s hunched over him, planting kisses to the side of his mouth, his neck, all over his chest—if she was wearing lipstick, he’d have red lip-stamps from his face all the way down to his abdomen. Armin yowls, wide-eyed with alarm when she open-mouth kisses his chest then chomps on his nipple. His pitch reaches an octave higher when her tongue licks a stripe down his stomach. He’s breathing loud and deep, drawn into anticipation. Armin _knows_ Annie can feel him pulsing against her inner thigh too. His dick bobs from his heated breath, thick and already oozing precum. Armin grabs his hardness, embarrassed and unable to take random friction from Annie—she’s driving him mad.

Annie retreats to his lips, holds herself up with two hands at the sides of his face. Then one hand drops, runs up the forearm which has the end goal of where his hard pole is.

“...well?” 

He knows what she means. He has his literal dick in his hand and her opening is resting in front of him. The unsure boy gulps, “Annie... you’re _sure?”_

“ _Armin,”_ the bite and desperation in her response is all he needs.

He knocks against her face with his nose, guiding her into a kiss—he hopes it’s enough of a distraction. He nestles the tip of his cock against Annie’s entrance; she takes in a sharp intake of air from the hot, blunt head. As she readies herself and he takes her waist, he lightly nips at her top and bottom lips. 

Annie eases his cock into her the same way Armin did with his fingers: slowly and steadily. There’s a slight pressure as her lips separate for him. Annie hisses. More mass is pushing into her than expected—Annie gasps from the intrusion. 

“ _Wait_ ,” She slaps her hand on the middle of his chest. Her body can’t help clenching from the tension but Annie discovers it makes her discomfort worse. Annie strains for breath, shuts her eyes to accommodate the thickness she’s got inside her and there’s more to go. With her hands balled tight, she descends quickly until her muscled bottom bumps the tops of Armin’s blond-threaded thighs. His mouth falls open in a quiet cry. Annie bites her bottom lip. 

The pressure is back.

She doesn’t like the pressure.

The one thing keeping her grounded is hearing Armin lose his ability to form words. His eyelids are shut tight and his fingertips are tighter than clamps on Annie’s waist—it’s a pain which helps distract her from how full she feels. 

She pokes his cheek, worried, “You alright?”

“Fine,” his breathing is harsh and uneven, “Just...trying to make sure I wait.”

Annie is nervous but she can’t help the slight curl of her mouth. She’s not even moving, and already, Armin’s breathing is erratic, like just being inside is too much for him. 

Then it hits her—he’s entirely inside. The realization flutters Annie’s muscles; she’s not sure if what she’s experiencing is pleasurable or uncomfortable but Armin lets loose a choking noise. 

“Annie!” Armin exclaims. His hips flinching up pulls a tiny whimper from Annie—it stings, “ _Fuck_ , sorry. _Sorry._ Please, don’t do _that._ Not right - ah - now…”

Armin must sound like a gasping fish or some crazed drunk. Being inside Annie isn’t like when he’s been in her mouth—she’s soft, humid, and _squeezing_ all at the same time. He can’t think of anything else other than Annie is sitting on him, that she feels _good_ around him. His flesh keeps screaming for more but he fights back—it’s one of the hardest efforts in his life. 

Annie pulls almost all the way out, then immediately slides back down. Armin doesn’t move, though the way his fingers tremble on Annie’s waist suggests that it costs him a great deal of effort. She stills, steels herself before she eases off his cock. As Armin enters for the third time, Annie ducks her head, registers the stretching-fullness again. There’s a constant ache in her pelvis but pleasure eventually bleeds into the effort of Armin’s size, inundates it with each hop.

She finally drops in a rhythm onto him. He releases his grasp on her right side, trails his fingers back to that spot which makes her weak. When Armin strokes her swollen clit, Annie gasp-hiccups and contracts involuntarily. Below her there’s a fractured cry of “Ah!”, and once stationary hips shoot up right as she drops. Annie cries out and her back bends into an arch. 

“Annie?” Worry is present in him again. 

Annie’s eyes are wide. Breathlessly, she says, “You _hit_ something _.”_

He’s mortified, “I can stop.”

He starts pushing her up and off by the hips but Annie’s slam on him leaves Armin flinching and whimpering.

_“No…”_ her refusal is high and hopelessly wanting. He _did_ hit something but she can’t explain it—the pleasure is so mind-melting, she’s addicted to getting more, “I don’t know. You... _mng…”_ her hips rise on their own accord—she can’t stay still anymore, “Do that again, _please_.”

It’s an order Armin can’t refuse. He _clutches_ her, the roughness of finger-calluses sinking into Annie’s hips and rear _—_ her nipples burn from the strength of it. Armin slams in so hard, there’s an audible _slap._ Annie’s breathing skips. Sweat dribbles down her back from the force of his upstroke to her downstroke. They keep going until her thighs are burning. The gasps falling out of her are weak and high—she sounds like a sobbing widow _—_ but Annie doesn’t care anymore. Every drag and drop they plow into each other has his cock hitting the same spot he was fingering before, spotting Annie’s eyesight. From the third ram into her, a yelp is torn out of her. 

Experimentally, her walls clamp on Armin’s shaft, and a choked string of words roll out of his tongue.

“ _Annie_ …” Words like _stunning, gorgeous, a diamond in the rough_ spin around in Armin’s head, but even after all this time, the words can’t reach his tongue. All Armin can blabber out is Annie’s name. 

His grip shifts to grab her ass and Armin’s hips throw up. Annie gives a little strained cry. Her hands on his chest ball tightly as she changes her rhythm so that they slam together at the halt of his upstroke and the bottom of her downstroke. It almost knocks the wind out of Armin and Annie’s grunt is soft yet strained. She tightens around him again and her movements move harder, faster. She bends over Armin, her hair falling across one shoulder, breasts crushing against his chest. She kisses him a little savagely. His hands slip up her back and tangle in her hair as his hips rose up off of the bed, meeting her thrusts in the middle.

The friction is _intoxicating_ and each pulse is like asking for more of this new drug she’s found. She gasps against his mouth and shoves her face against his neck. Her drops are weaker—she’s too consumed in the flopping of her innards and dizziness Armin’s thrusts imposes. She flinches from his harsher thrusts. She balls the sheets on either side of his head. 

“Armin…” he plunges again and she flinches mid-drop. She squirms, her eyes clenched shut, “ _Armin…”_

Somehow, he gets it. He clutches and spins Annie around until her back slams on the mattress. He throws her legs behind him, and finally, he can do what he’s wanted to do for ages—Armin throws himself into her, unforgivingly hard and wild. Her chest heaves with unsuppressed cries—he’s _deeper_ , so much so that Annie sees white. Wet, needy muscles flutter around Armin severely. His teeth scrape her shoulder and she feels the rising quake expanding in her lower belly, taking her over the edge with a white-hot crackle. She throws her arms around him, both pressing their chests together as he slips in and out, rattles her brain and bones with each thrust. She cries out, coming with back-bowing force. Her fingers dig crushingly into Armin’s shoulder blades as the whole world explodes around her and the _squeeze_ of her body is too _much._ One, two more pumps and Armin shouts, stills. He releases inside her, the sensation warm and thick and flowing. Armin’s tense body relaxes then sinks bonelessly on top of her, his weight crushing her in all the right ways. He’s breathing hard, sweaty, and is wonderfully warm. Annie understands the feeling.

"Uguhh," he mumbles incoherently against her throat. His breathing steadies as she strokes his nape. "Annie, that was…"

"Good? No kidding…”

Annie aches as Armin moves, pulls out. The sting sharp is enough that when she squeezed her eyes shut, some moisture escapes. She’s fairly sore but...

She has no regrets—not one. 

Armin worriedly eyeballs the stream of white leaking out of Annie, “Crap... I didn’t pull out. I thought I—”

“I don’t care,” she swiftly halts him, “Stop worrying about it.”

Relief replaces Armin’s worry quicker than Annie expected. He pulls Annie into a gentle, body-encompassing hug. A warm kiss to the side of her neck calls Annie back from the fog of climax. 

“My Annie-Pie~,” he practically sings, “I knew you were an angel but _that_ was amazing.”

Before she can scold him of how she’s the stark opposite of an angel, Annie’s eyes snap to him, her expression between surprise and disgust, “That’s it? _That’s_ my nickname? I was expecting something a little more original.”

“I’d call you Ball-Buster but I don’t want to give you any ideas... Annie-Pie is safer.” 

“And I’d call you Colossal-Dick but I have more respect for you than that.”

“Because Annie-Pie is so kind and wouldn’t hurt a fly~”

“If that’s what you _want_ to believe, fine.”

“And has a soul as pure as the color of her eyes~”

“Liar.”

“And Annie-Pie can hardly tell a good lie~.”

“Okay, that’s _it._ I’m submitting you to the asylum tomorrow.”

“I’ll be out in a day,” Armin glances up at the ceiling, thinking, “No...two days. There’s all that damn paperwork.”

“Alright then, new plan. You can pay me back for your terrible nickname by fucking me senseless again. Or else, you can go back to having blue-balls.” 

Armin picks himself up by one arm. He’s shocked, “Aren’t you sore? It looked like it really hurt at the start...”

Annie’s forefinger rubs underneath her nose. She should be more embarrassed—the version of herself from this morning would be—but that fear has oddly disappeared now, “It does hurt a little...but you might be able to make it feel better.”

Not even a second passes. Armin gloms his lips on hers so quickly, Annie’s confused noise speeds down his throat. By the time their lips separate, he holds her down by her wrists which now lay on each side of her face. 

“Eager for another round already, Annie-pie?”

A sneer pulls up Annie’s lips as Armin places himself between her legs again, “Stick to your moves and not your lame sex talk, Brainiac.”

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all to those who have left kudos/comments too! And I apologize for my lag on responding—I’m often very tired after work.


	7. Office (Experienced)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Armin's come to the decision that Annie's pushy attitude needs some taming.
> 
> We've gone through the angst, sad, and awkward NSFW. Now let’s get into experienced SPICE NSFW.
> 
> You can consider this maybe a year after they are more comfortable with sex. I'd hate to be Armin and Annie's neighbor - too noisy at night. Soundproof headphones aren't enough.

Any ounce of professionalism in this office is gone. It started like a routine visit—nothing different; Armin and Annie waited on the couch for Reiner and Jean to come by until a meeting stalled their arrival. The building was quiet and many personnel fled their busy desks for dinner or home. Then silence came as did a scratch which shivers the skin and tingles the back of the head. 

There’s something about the allure of Armin’s old office which ignites every one of Armin’s red blood cells and sparks alive the electric-blue in Annie’s eyes; they were on each other within seconds. Jean will likely yell at him later—the air is ripe with the smell of damp sweat and sex. He _should_ be concerned, but right now, it’s not even an after-thought. The heavy humidity adds to Armin’s perspiring and how he hovers over Annie has his skin scorching even hotter. Annie has the strength and brains to be a decorated Major —intimidating and fierce in every nook and cranny of her posture and expression. But when her hips are in his hands and she’s trapped under him, she’s a weak, demanding mess. 

_“Harder,_ damn you,” she pants her order from below. Armin drives in a rocket-quick thrust and Annie gasps, “ _God_ it’s not— “A hard shove pushes his shoulder back—Annie’s strength right now is half what it usually is, “Put your _back_ into it!! It’s your own fault that it’s harder to come.”

Armin isn’t offended; in fact, he smiles. He loves Annie when she’s soft and he thinks he loves her even more when she’s rough like this. It’s like they’re fighting rather than fucking except this is one battle he has a chance at winning.

But Annie is unbearably _rude_ sometimes. His smile turns wicked from a thought. He clutches a waist which almost turned the color of moonlight from the four-year lack of sun; he sluggishly withdraws.

Annie gasps breathily when he pulls back but he stops halfway in her. He’s _hot_ inside her, torturously throbbing in tunneled confines in signal that she’s not full _enough_.

“You’re _tight_ , Annie,” his sneer with twitches on the edges is a mix of drunk excitement and intrigue, “If you didn’t get so wet, I don’t think I’d be able to move.”

Annie’s lips curl down from impatience, “ _Ugh._ You’re an annoying pest when you’re confident. I should have just rode you when I had the chance.”

“You’ll always have a chance for that,” the sofa cushions under her wriggling bottom dents as he forces her down more and every ounce of her wants _more_ , more impaling heat.

“Arlert _,_ if you don’t get back to fucking me stupid,” She yelps from a tug from his teeth on her nipple and tenses, squeezes his burrowed cock so aptly, Armin groans. Her cunt sucks him off far better than Annie’s mouth does—though her tongue and throat are masterful in their own way. He doesn’t budge still. 

“Mean girls don’t always get what they want,” he taunts with her skin between his teeth. He releases the pointed-tip nipple and kisses the top of her breast, “Try asking again.”

“ _Fuck_ you and— “his slide out of her is agonizingly slow, removes more of his heft from between her legs, and Annie cries like she’s in agony. Armin gnashes his teeth as her muscles ripple around him, trying to keep him in place, “ _Please,_ just _ruin_ me already.”

Who knew – Annie’s not _so_ bad when it comes to her manners, that is if she’s given the right encouragement. Lazily, Armin pushes in, keeping his slide slow enough for Annie to groan and her entrance to yawn wide. Armin changes his tactics; he throws away his moment of stillness, that second where he savors Annie’s tight, silk heat enclosing him everywhere. Stark mass shoves inside her instead, pushing her open from the inside. 

Annie gasps in sync with her back arching, "Oh _god_ , you're so deep," she smirks quickly after, “You know how to dig after all.”

He first answers with a thrust so hard, Annie bites her lip. Haughtiness, widens his smirk, “I keep my best tricks for last.”

Annie groans and slides her red hands over her face, “God, you’re so _embarrassing…”_

Armin doesn’t need Annie’s expression to tell if his game of sex and words work—the muscle fluttering and leaks around his trapped girth makes her arousal clear. She can't meet his thrusts, not with the way his hands dig deep into her thighs—she might have finger-shaped bruises tomorrow. Her hole is stuffed to the brim with him and Annie hungers for more. Her hips jut forward and inside her Armin’s cock swerves at angles he hasn’t tried yet. She’s seeing stars. Annie juts again—she wriggles less but yells louder. She’s so close, _too_ close. 

Armin’s lower abs feel a soft, sweaty scrape then a bony barrier over the clit he tries to slam against. From the speed, Armin can tell Annie is working frantically on pleasuring herself and the very realization makes Armin want to watch but he can’t; he’ll lose himself too soon. 

“Come on,” Annie whines, her voice so wounded and high-pitched, she sounds near tears. Stuck in overdrive, Armin pounds into her like a monster who has little care for his mate. Her nipple between his forefinger and thumb clasp into a pinch so hard, the mix of thrusts and pain widens the ends of Annie’s eyes, “ _Oh…”_

Her back is in a trembling arch, the fluttering around his cock is so haphazard and tight, Armin knows she's nearing her end. He’s had an idea for some time and now is the best time to run with it. He shoots forward until his jaw clamps on her neck and at the same time he pinches and thrusts, he bites. Annie lets loose a shriek so loud, Armin squeezes his eyes shut, his eardrums vibrating like they’re threatening to burst. 

He fucks her through her bucking orgasm and the telltale ache in his balls can’t be held down anymore—she’s too _tight._ Armin curses, “ _Fuck,”_ beneath his breath and with a clap of his hips to hers, his orgasm sprays deep inside Annie and he stills. 

Her leg curled around his hip twitches before her knee and calf collapse onto the sofa cushion, half hanging over the edge. Her chest heaves for breath but she’s dead quiet. 

“I keep my word.” Armin reminds the woman below him with a crooked smile. The side of Annie’s neck beads a droplet of blood, and instantly, Armin’s chest feels the sharp knife of regret. He leans down and kisses her neck, each bite mark circle he made, like it’s an apology.

Armin hears a weak and raspy chuckle from Annie, “That was nice…”

“I didn’t mean to draw blood.” Armin’s tone is low and remorseful. He partially hangs his head in shame, “I’ll hold back more next time.”

“You _better_ _not_ hold back.” She snaps. Armin arches a brow and foggy ice-blue roll over to him, “Because _that_ was a nice change”

She sighs and her blond-matted head rolls to the side. Her firm belly and chest rises with a deep breath before relaxing again.

“Annie?” Armin pulls himself up more and gently taps her chest, “Are you okay?”

Annie doesn’t answer. Her eyes have slipped shut - she’s fast asleep. 

Armin’s fingernails dart into his mouth; he’s sweating bullets.

Jean or Reiner will probably be back soon.

He and Annie weren’t exactly quiet either.

He really didn’t think this through… 

  
  
Armin frantically brainstorms on how he can spin this and _not_ get in trouble with Jean. But first Annie needs to _wake up._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RIP Jean's couch. He's probably going to want to put a torch to it-both for the smell and for the everyday reminder that his friend got laid on it.
> 
> You can blame SCRise on twitter for me finalizing the setting to put this in. That was the only piece missing lol. [@SCRise](https://twitter.com/SCRise_) is here and check out her art it's amazing ;-;
> 
> I'd say NSFW warning but...lol, you're here. Why do you even need it.


End file.
